PS  3500  A6  A52 
•         ...    ;..:.rPRN  A.  SAN  DIEG 


3  1822  01096  1415 


HIGH  ROAD 


PS 


The 
Highroad 


Ike 

Highroad 

BEING 

THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

OF  AN  AMBITIOUS 

MOTHER 


CHICAGO 

HERBERT  S.  STONE  &  COMPANY 
MCMIV 


COPYRIGHT,   1904,    BY 

HERBERT   S,  STONE  &   COMPANY 

CHICAGO 


PRKSSOF 

STROMBERG,   ALLEN  &    CO. 
CHICAGO 

12845 


PREFACE 

They  call  me  the  most  successful  mother  in 
New  York.  This  summer,  with  my  tall  Jane  in 
her  honeymoon,  I  am  left  alone,  and  I  am 
taking  a  holiday  in  the  house  where  I  was  born, 
in  West  Virginia  in  the  hills.  As  I  walk 
through  the  fields,  poor,  grown  up  in  ragweed 
and  the  white  boneset  that  I  used  to  gather  for 
"bitters"  when  I  was  a  child,  and  realize  that  I 
am  the  mother-in-law  of  an  Ambassador,  an 
Earl  with  old  Elizabethan  houses  mellowing  in 
the  English  sunshine,  a  brilliant  New  York 
lawyer  who  may  become  anything — and  is  now 
rich  and  well  born — and  one  of  the  greatest  of 
American  heiresses,  my  sense  of  humor  is 
aroused. 

I  am  on  the  sunny  side  of  fifty.  Once  I 
walked  barefoot  in  the  furrows  of  the  very  field 
where  I  am  writing  this,  and  dropped  potatoes 
before  my  father's  hoe!  Sometimes  in  these 
late  years  when  I  have  read  the  newspaper 
accounts  of  my  "old  Virginia  family,"  it  was 
hard  to  keep  my  face  straight.  But  I  did. 

In  this  world  the  successful  always  keep  their 
faces  straight.  I  have  heard  people  who  have 
not  the  power  to  do  so  at  the  important 
5 


Pref; 


ace 


moment,  bitterly  declare  that  success  comes 
only  to  those  who  lack  a  sense  of  humor.  It 
sometimes  comes  to  those  lacking  that  best 
sense,  that  complement  of  the  other  five,  but 
rarely.  The  true  secret  of  power  is  to  see  your 
actions  in  every  light  and  then  to  choose  the 
point  of  view  which  you  will  stand  by  and  from 
which  you  will  cause  others  to  see  you. 
Success  does  not  consist  altogether  in  seeing, 
but  in  being  seen. 

But  I  will  confess  that  I  never  encouraged  a 
sense  of  humor  in  my  girls.  They  never  knew 
that  we  and  our  pretensions  were  altogether 
comical.  They  were  real  inasmuch  as  they 
believed  in  themselves — at  least  while  they 
were  very  young.  Sometimes  I  have  wanted  a 
confidant  until  I  ached.  I  have  wanted  to  go 
to  some  level-headed,  "broad-minded"  person 
and  tell  the  story  and  laugh. 

I  have  read  a  clever  story  now  and  then  in 
which  an  Abbe  figured.  I  have 'always  had  an 
ideal  of  an  Abbe  in  my  mind.  If  I  had  ever 
run  across  him  I  should  have  become  a  convert 
to  Rome  'for  no  reason  on  earth  except  that  I 
wanted  a  confidant.  I  could  have  been  happy 
if  my  lot  had  been  thrown  with  that  Father 
Forbes,  of  whom  Harold  Frederic  gave  a  bril- 


Preface  7 

liant  picture  in  Theron  Ware.  I  am  sure  we 
should  have  been  the  best  of  friends. 

Having  now  no  children  of  my  own  to  settle, 
I  would  throw  out  as  a  hint  to  other  mothers 
that  there  is  a  wonderful  career  for  a  poor, 
clever,  ambitious  boy  in  the  Church.  If  my 
own  boy  had  not  early  shown  that  the  way  of  the 
world  was  his  way,  I  should  have  put  him  there. 

The  idle  class  in  America  is  made  up  of 
women,  and  of  men  who  think  along  feminine 
lines.  They  want  a  confidant.  The  woman 
does  not  dare  make  one  of  her  husband.  In 
the  first  place,  he  would  refuse  to  understand, 
or  he  would  be  worried  to  death  over  a  "hys 
terical  wife"  if  he  did  understand.  The  priest 
or  the  clergyman  who  can  fill  this  want  is  a 
"made"  man.  He  must  be  a  celibate.  Some 
women  find  a  confidant  in  a  judiciously  selected 
doctor. 

It  is  in  the  final  and  complete  lack  of  an 
"other  self,"  as  the  sentimental  old  maids  say, 
that  I  am  writing  this.  And  then,  I  wish  to 
see  how  the  story  looks  when  it  is  all  finished. 
It  will  give  me  exactly  the  same  sort  of  pleas 
ure  that  one  has  in  looking  at  her  own  photo 
graph.  I  want  to  see  how  I  look  to  my  own 
critical  eyes. 


8  Pref; 


ace 


I  here  disclaim  any  idea  of  making  a  moral 
story,  or  a  sentimental  story,  or  any  sort  of 
story  save  a  true  story.  If  I  neglect  sometimes 
to  write  down  the  good  in  people  and  call 
attention  to  the  bad — that,  too,  is  part  of  the 
portrait  I  am  making  of  myself.  What  I  see 
reveals  my  character  also.  1  should  be  a  fool 
to  "fake"  the  story  of  my  struggles  to  present 
a  more  pleasing  picture,  to  paint  a  portrait  of 
myself  after  the  manner  of  Chartran.  I  believe 
in  truly  good  people,  but  I  do  not  hold  as  an 
article  of  that  belief  that  they  are  the  only 
happy  people.  The  successful  are  the  happy — 
they  and  those  who  haven't  the  power  to  real 
ize  that  they  are  unhappy.  I  should  not 
"rather  be  good  than  be  happy."  Would 
you?  I  am  happy;  and  in  this  narrative  I 
have  not  hidden  my  faults  nor  tried  to  explain 
them. 

Dr.  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  said  that  any 
one  could  write  one  interesting  novel  by  tell 
ing  the  plain  unvarnished  tale  of  his  own  life. 
This  narrative  is  made  after  that  formula,  and 
I  can  only  hope  that  he  told  the  truth,  for  I 
might  say  with  Montaigne,  "All  the  world 
knows  me  in  my  book." 


The  Highroad 


i 

A  Mother 

My  father  was  the  son  of  a  hard-shell  Bap 
tist  preacher  who  wandered  up  and  down  the 
Ohio  River  preaching  from  a  flat-boat.  My 
grandmother  was  reported  to  be  the  daughter 
of  a  Kentucky  farmer  somewhere  near  Mays- 
ville,  who  was  fascinated  by  my  grandfather's 
tongue,  and  eloped  with  him.  She  died  when 
my  father  was  born,  and  he,  a  physically  weak 
little  creature,  was  brought  up  in  careless  fash 
ion  among  the  people  of  the  country  who 
listened  while  my  grandfather  preached  and 
took  him  home  to  dinner.  I  have  sometimes 
thought  that  my  grandfather,  educated  and  in 
another  environment,  might  have  been  that 
priest  of  whom  I  have  dreamed. 

My  father  never  spoke  of  this  period  of  his 
life  to  me,  but  he  talked  to  my  mother,  and  she 
has  told  me  something  of  it. 

He  had  no  education  whatever,  as  education 
is  known  to-day.  He  learned  to  read  and 
o 


IO  The  Highroad 

write,  and,  a  little  later  when  he  began  to 
"trade,"  to  keep  rude  accounts.  I  believe  it 
was  horses  at  first,  and  then  anything,  until  he 
had  acquired  the  farm  here. 

I  have  often  thought  that  had  my  father  mar 
ried  an  ambitious  woman,  or  even  an  ordinarily 
"smart"  woman,  he  would  have  reached  out 
into  the  world  and  become  a  man  of  substance 
and  it  may  be  wealth.  But  my  mother  was 
simply  a  rather  stupid,  pretty  daughter  of  a 
farmer.  It  is  from  her  that  the  Countess  of 
Truesdale,  who  is  my  youngest  daughter,  in 
herits  her  delicate  blonde  beauty,  which  causes 
the  English  aristocracy  to  look  heavy  and 
overfed. 

Northern  people,  and  even  southern  people 
of  the  present  generation,  have  no  idea  of  the 
position  of  the  southern  farmers  of  the  non- 
slave-holding  class  before  the  Civil  War.  They 
were  more  surely  outcasts  than  the  negroes 
themselves.  In  the  Virginia  and  Tennessee 
mountains  'their  position  was  less  noticeable 
than  in  the  great  plantation  countries,  but  even 
there,  "the  quality"  was  a  caste  apart. 

It  was  to  these  outcasts  that  my  father 
nelonged.  My  mother's  people,  by  virtue  of 
a  dozen  slaves  (one  family  of  negroes)  were  a 


A  Mother  it 

little  higher  in  the  social  scale,  and  notwith 
standing  the  fact  that  my  father  was  infinitely 
their  superior  in  every  possible  way,  my 
mother's  people  held  themselves  aloof.  This 
attitude  was  very  convenient  to  me  later,  as  it 
freed  me  from  the  clog  of  their  presence  and 
blood  claims.  I  have  noticed  this  often  in 
other  families.  Unless  relatives  are  very  good, 
a  distinct  advantage  anywhere,  they  hamper. 
As  Mr.  Kipling  says,  "He  travels  fastest  who 
travels  alone." 

I  was  born  just  before  the  Civil  War,  and  was 
old  enough  as  it  passed  away  to  see  that  my 
father's  sympathies  were  with  "the  Union," 
and  my  mother's  with  "the  Rebels."  I  was 
taught  by  my  father  to  sing:  "Hang  Jeff  Davis 
on  a  Sour  Apple  Tree,"  and  I  knew  that  my 
mother  treasured  in  the  first  place  in  her 
"album"  a  photograph  of  Wilkes  Booth.  I 
have  that  photograph  still.  It  is  part  of  our 
"local  color,"  as  southerners. 

But  they  did  not  quarrel.  My  father  did  as 
he  pleased,  and  my  mother  resented  nothing 
that  was  done  by  anybody. 

After  the  war  the  schools  in  our  part  of  the 
country  were  improved,  and  by  the  time  I  was 
old  enough  to  attend  school,  there  were  two 


12  The  Highroad 

sessions  a  year,  making  in  all  seven  months, 
and  I  was  sent  there. 

The  school  house  was  of  logs — heated  by  a 
big  iron  stove  in  which  wood  was  burned,  and 
the  teachers  who  came  to  us  were  the  rawest  of 
men, — some  of  them  men  who  had  served  in  the 
war,  and  were  seeking  a  way  to  fortune  through 
the  new  state  of  West  Virginia. 

When  I  was  fifteen  the  man  who  became  my 
husband  came  to  the  Bethel  school.  He  was 
then  a  lank,  shy,  red-haired  young  man  from 
Pennsylvania,  with  what  my  father  called  a 
"wonderful  head  fer  figgers." 

After  the  school  term  was  over  for  that  year 
he  stayed  and  opened  a  country  store,  giving 
groceries  to  the  farmers  for  produce.  They 
brought  their  crops  and  then  their  pork  to  him 
in  exchange  for  coffee  and  tea  and  sugar,  dry 
goods  and  "town-cured"  hams.  Then  in  the 
spring  and  early  summer  they  would  buy  their 
own  pork  back  at  a  slight  increase  in  price, 
giving  a  lien  on  the  coming  crop.  This 
method  brought  profits  of  about  seventy-five 
per  cent,  but  our  customers  did  not  discover  it. 
It  was  that  sense  of  seeing  something  which 
those  about  us  did  not  see  that  first  drew  us 
apart  from  our  neighbors,  and  caused  us  to  look 


A  Mother  13 

upon  ourselves  as  aloof  from  them.  It  was 
that  more  than  our  prosperity.  We  sometimes 
talked  of  the  people  and  my  husband  wondered 
why  the  public  <=chools  did  not  teach  them 
more.  We  finally  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
they  are  not  really  taught  anything  but  surface 
book-knowledge.  They  can  add,  multiply  and 
subtract  figures  but  not  facts.  There  appears 
to  be  a  wall  between  their  learning,  such  as  it 
is,  and  their  actual  living.  The  relation 
between  the  two,  which  is  education,  is  un 
known  to  them. 

My  husband  in  those  early  days  talked  to 
me  of  everything.  There  was  one  man  who 
amused  us  very  much.  He  had  a  piece  of  what 
is  known  as  wild  land,  covered  with  heavy 
walnut  timber.  This  was  before  the  day  of 
lumber  companies  in  West  Virginia.  As  he 
could  produce  nothing  on  his  land  (so  he  said) 
he  wanted  to  sell  it.  My  husband,  in  bargain 
ing,  said  that  the  land  certainly  could  not  be 
worth  much  to  anybody,  and  the  man  finally 
accepted  the  offer  that  was  made  for  it.  Then 
my  husband  employed  the  late  owner  and  his 
two  sons  to  clear  the  land.  The  timber  taken 
off  more  than  paid  for  the  labor  and  for  the 
land,  leaving  my  husband  with  the  great  tract 


14  The  Highroad 

of  new  land  absolutely  free  of  any  cost  what 
ever.  Neither  the  man  nor  his  sons  saw  any 
thing  unusual  in  the  transaction. 

By  this  perfectly  legitimate  method  of  carry 
ing  on  his  business,  it  was  not  long  before  my 
husband  owned  large  tracts  of  land.  He  was 
doing  a  banking  and  loan  business  in  a  small 
way,  although  his  customers  had  no  idea  of  it, 
nor  do  I  believe  had  he. 

New  York  is  always  wondering  at  the  coun 
trymen  who  come  into  the  "street"  and  man 
age  it  "without  previous  experience."  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  there  are  hundreds  of  men  all 
over  this  country  who  are  playing  Wall  Street's 
tricks  every  day  of  their  lives,  and  never  know 
it.  When  they  discover  it  they  come  to  town. 
The  games  have  a  different  name  in  the 
country. 

Undoubtedly  had  my  husband  lived,  my  boy 
and  girls  would  have  been  very  rich,  and  it 
would  not  have  been  necessary  for  me  to  make 
the  efforts  through  which  I  struggled  for  so 
many  years.  But  I  cannot  call  them  anything 
but  happy  years.  I  was  like  a  strong  man  shoot 
ing  rapids.  I  might  go  to  pieces  any  minute,  but 
then — it  was  all  exhilarating  sport,  and  if  I 
came  out  into  clear,  deep  water,  it  would  be  a 


A  Mother  15 

haven.  I  touched  bottom  and  I  touched  rocks. 
Sometimes  my  boat  swung  in  an  eddy.  Once 
it  was  all  but  capsized.  A  cold  chill  goes  over 
me  when  I  remember!  I  never  expected  to 
get  out  alive — socially  alive,  that  is. 

My  two  eldest  girls,  Lucile  and  Genevieve, 
are  nearly  the  same  age — as  nearly  as  they  can 
be.  Robert,  my  boy,  is  more  than  a  year  older. 
They  belong  to  my  more  or  less  romantic 
period  when  I  was  beginning  to  read  books. 
I  called  novels  books,  and  I  never  thought  of 
trying  to  read  anything  else. 

I  cannot  read  novels  now,  but  in  those  days  I 
read  Augusta  J.  Evans,  Sir  Walter  Scott  some 
times  (I  found  him  too  remote,  although  inter 
esting  at  times),  Disraeli,  G.  P.  R.  James,  and 
any  other  book  which  told  of  people  of  wealth 
and  position.  They  were  text  books  to  me.  I 
have  sometimes  wondered  why  I  did  not  find 
"Vanity  Fair"  a  great  book.  I  always  thought 
Becky  Sharp  a  fool.  Clever  people  hold  their 
own.  They  make  the  world  respect  them,  and 
they  are  seldom  found  out.  I  had  no  advantages 
of  education,  not  even  Dr.  Johnson's  Diction 
ary,  but  I  could  teach  Becky  Sharp  things 
that  neither  she  nor  her  creator  ever  dreamed 
of.  Of  all  of  them  I  liked  Disraeli  best.  He 


1 6  The  Highroad 

wrote  of  high  life  that  he  had  actually  seen. 
For  every  crumb  of  information  concerning  it 
I  was  eager  and  hungering. 

At  the  time  the  children  were  born  we  were 
living  on  the  farm  in  a  house  my  husband  built 
soon  after  our  marriage.  It  had  four  rooms 
and  a  kitchen.  There  was  a  wash  house  out 
side.  I  "did  my  own  work,"  as  they  say  in 
the  country,  with  a  deaf  and  dumb  woman  who 
was  a  sort  of  dependent  of  my  father's  to  come 
in  and  do  the  washing.  I  made  my  children's 
clothes  on  the  sewing  machine  that  my  hus 
band  gave  me  on  our  first  wedding  anniversary, 
and  as  a  matter  of  course  my  own  clothes. 

Our  sitting-room  had  an  ingrain  carpet  on 
the  floor,  a  rug  with  a  lion  in  plush  in  the  cen 
ter,  a  "set"  of  cane-seated  chairs  with  a  rocker, 
a  coal  stove.  A  Lady  Washington's  reception 
engraving  (considered  very  grand),  a  "what 
not"  with  some  vases  and  shells,  and  a  bracket 
or  two  decorated  the  walls.  We  called  it  the 
parlor. 

My  own  bed-room  was  our  real  sitting-room. 
Here  was  a  thick,  and  I  know  now,  a  beauti 
ful  rag  carpet,  white  curtains,  an  open  fire, 
my  sewing-machine,  my  bed,  the  trundle  bed 
and  the  crib. 


A  Mother  17 

We  had  besides  a  "spare  room"  for  chance 
visitors,  a  dining-room  and  the  kitchen.  A 
bath-room?  There  isn't  a  West  Virginia  farm 
er's  family  in  this  year  1904  that  bathes  every 
day.  Not  one,  unless  it  is  some  "crank"  who 
is  considered  crazy  by  his  neighbors.  There 
are  not  a  dozen  bath-rooms  outside  of  the 
towns. 

A  few  years  ago,  I  went  back  there  to  attend 
to  some  business,  and  an  acquaintance  of  mine 
in  Fowlersburg  took  me  to  see  her  daughter's 
new  house,  a  modern  "Queen  Anne,"  not  yet 
completed.  Fowlersburg  is  now  a  town  of 
fifteen  thousand  inhabitants. 

"Here,"  said  my  friend,  "is  the  place  the 
book  said"  (it  was  a  house  out  of  a  builder's 
book)  "to  put  a  bath-room.  But  Mamie  said 
she  would  rather  have  a  sewing-room.  In  the 
summer  time  they  could  take  their  Saturday 
baths  in  the  wash-house,  and  in  the  winter  they 
wouldn't  need  them." 

And  Mamie  was  a  good  girl  and  a  good 
housekeeper. 

I  have  kept  my  friendship  for  a  few  of  the  old 
people  in  Fowlersburg,  particularly  those  of 
the  old  families.  Of  course  my  children  have 
never  been  there  since  early  childhood.  The 


1 8  The  Highroad 

ideals  they  have  concerning  the  place  and  the 
people  are  perfectly  beautiful.  Let  me  beg  all 
mothers  who  wish  to  be  successful,  never  by 
any  chance  to  wreck  a  child's  ideals.  If  they 
once  truly  know,  what  they  are  talking  about 
they  must  be  geniuses  to  make  other  people 
see  the  ideal.  I  myself  am  something  of  a 
genius,  but  I  never  brought  one  into  the  world. 
My  children  thought  they  always  told  the 
truth.  At  least  all  but  one,  and  her  lapses 
could  hardly  be  called  keeping  up  an  ideal. 


Early  Days  in  Fowlersburg  19 


II 


Early  Days  in  Fowlersburg 

I  like  to  linger  on  the  days  when  I  was  learn 
ing,  and  day  by  day  coming  out  of  the  general 
into  the  special. 

The  town  is  interesting  to  me  as  the  scene 
of  my  earliest  attempts  to  live  after  the  fash 
ion  of  the  world  to  which  I  longed  to  belong. 
I  wanted  to  be  a  part  of  it. 

I  often  think  of  the  crowds  of  humanity  and 
of  how  few  of  us  there  are  who  do  more  than 
jostle  along  and  elbow  our  neighbors.  When 
Shakespeare  says,  "All  the  world's  a  stage  and 
all  the  men  and  women  merely  players,"  he  is 
not  exactly  right.  There  is  a  stage,  but  only 
a  few  of  us  are  the  players.  The  rest  make  up 
the  gaping  audience.  Sometimes  a  clown  or  a 
columbine  sets  up  a  booth  at  the  street  corner, 
but  they  are  the  tawdry  "notorious. "  Some  of 
us  are  artists  and  play  on  the  world's  stage, 
strutting  to  heroics  (too  often)  in  the  glare  of 
limelight.  We  know  that  there  is  a  place,  often 
dingy  and  dark  and  unpleasant,  where  we  put 
aside  our  splendors  and  sit  down  to  solitude. 


2O  The  Highroad 

It  is  our  solace  there  to  believe  that  the  audience 
at  least  thinks  us  real. 

How  many  of  us  realize  that  the  visible 
world  about  us  is  no  measure  of  what  is,  but 
merely  of  what  we  are  capable  of  seeing  and 
understanding?  Ghosts  may  walk  for  aught  we 
know.  Our  poor  little  five  senses  are  inade 
quate  for  our  best  uses,  nature's  grudging  dole 
to  us,  mere  pitiful  tools  to  enable  us  to  exist 
and  work  for  that  vague  end  she  has  in  view  so 
far  beyond  the  limits  of  our  vision. 

Your  real  novelist  has  something  like  second 
sight.  He  sees  the  realities  behind  the  trivial 
little  happenings  which  divert  the  common 
place  minds.  Life  is  a  sleight-of-hand  magi 
cian  who  plays  her  tricks  while  she  fastens  your 
attention  somewhere  else  than  on  her  object. 
The  novelist,  like  Balzac  or  Hardy,  smiles 
grimly  and  points  out  the  machinery. 

I  had  from  the  beginning  the  wish  to  be  one 
of  those  who  played.  I  am  not  a  remarkable 
woman  to  look  at.  I  have  always  tried  not  to 
be.  In  those  early  years  in  Fowlersburg  it  was 
my  ambition  to  win  a  solid  foundation  of  re 
spect  and  a  place.  I  did  not  want  one  woman 
ever  to  remember  that  her  husband's  eyes  had 
rested  upon  me  with  the  sort  of  admiration  that 


Early  Days  in  Fowlersburg  21 

all  women  love  for  themselves  and  hate  for 
another;  but  I  wanted  to  be  known. 

When  we  decided  to  leave  the  farm  and  go 
into  town  to  live,  I  thought  the  matter  over 
very  carefully.  My  husband  said  that  he 
wanted  to  go  because  he  intended  to  open  a 
general  store  there  to  dispose  of  the  country 
produce  that  came  in.  By  this  time  he  had  a 
chain  of  country  stores  through  what  are 
known  as  the  "back  counties"  in  West  Vir 
ginia.  And  he  also  wanted  to  send  the  chil 
dren  to  school  as  they  grew  a  little  larger. 
"Give  them  advantages,"  he  said. 

Lucile  and  Genevieve  were  five  and  six, 
Robert  was  seven,  and  Jane  a  baby. 

I  lay  awake  a  good  many  nights  turning  over 
in  my  mind  this  change  of  residence.  I  knew 
absolutely  nobody  in  Fowlersburg.  It  was  this 
which  finally  caused  me  to  go  there — this,  and 
the  fact  that  I  was  little  hampered  by  relatives. 
My  father  had  no  kinfolk  that  I  knew.  My 
mother  had  plenty,  but  they  were,  like  her, 
quiet,  shy  people,  who  bothered  nobody,  and 
least  of  all  my  father's  family.  In  these  days 
my  father  and  mother  had  acquired  a  taste 
which  made  them  happy  and  contented  alone. 
The  old  New  York  Ledger  was  then  edited  by 


22  The  Highroad 

Robert  Bonner,  who  published  every  week 
installments  of  novels  by  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  South- 
worth,  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis  and  other  romance 
writers  of  that  school.  Four  of  these  stories 
were  published  weekly.  Besides,  there  were 
editorials  by  Henry  Ward  Beecher  and  James 
Parton,  a  correspondence  column,  and  some 
short  stories.  It  is  impossible  to  tell  this 
generation  anything  about  the  fascination  of 
the  old  New  York  Ledger. 

My  father  and  mother  found  sufficient  amuse 
ment  in  keeping  four  intricate  plots  in  their 
heads  from  week  to  week.  I  believe  that  not 
half  as  many  farmer's  wives  went  to  the  insane 
asylum  in  the  days  of  the  Ledger. 

I  remember  once  going  up  home  (my  father's 
house  was  always  "home")  and  finding  father 
churning,  with  half  the  Ledger  in  one  hand 
while  he  worked  the  dasher  up  and  down  with 
the  other,  and  mother  kneading  bread,  with  the 
other  half  of  the  paper  propped  up  behind  the 
bread  board.  They  always  cut  it  in  two  when 
it  came,  and  drew  straws  which  should  have  the 
part  containing  Mrs.  Southworth's  story. 
When  they  had  finished  it  I  borrowed  it  and 
read  it  myself. 

I  did  not  tell  my  husband  why  I  hesitated 


Early  Days  in  Fowlersburg  23 

about  going  to  Fowlersburg.  There  are  some 
things  a  man  cannot  understand.  I  told  him 
that  I  loved  the  country  and  my  little  home — 
which  was  true.  I  had  my  work  and  my  dreams. 

I  hardly  know  whether  it  was  in  the  Ledger 
or  in  some  of  the  English  novels  in  cheap  edi 
tions  that  I  was  beginning  to  get  my  hands  on, 
that  I  learned  that  a  "tradesman"  was  not  a 
social  personage.  To  me  a  tradesman  meant 
one  thing:  a  storekeeper.  I  was  trying  to  fig 
ure  out  some  way  in  which  we  could  slip  away 
from  that  odium.  Naturally  I  did  not  tell  my 
husband  that. 

Finally,  one  night,  I  had  an  idea.  It  was 
never  my  way  to  give  my  husband  a  joggle, 
waken  him  out  of  a  sound  sleep  and  expect 
him  to  discuss  matters.  He  was  a  good  hus 
band,  but  I  doubt  if  there  is  any  man  suffi 
ciently  perfect  to  enjoy  that.  But  I  felt  that  I 
must  talk  about  it  now.  I  arose  from  my  bed, 
put  on  a  pair  of  knitted  slippers  and  a  blue 
quilted  dressing  gown  which  I  kept  for  slight 
illnesses,  lighted  the  lamp  and  sat  down  by  the 
fire.  By  this  time,  naturally,  my  husband  was 
awake. 

"What  is  it,  Mary?"  he  asked  anxiously. 
"Are  you  sick?" 


24  The  Highroad 

"I  have  a  suffocating  feeling, "  I  said.  "It 
hurt  me  to  lie  down." 

By  this  time  he  was  over  the  side  of  the  bed 
inquiring  if  I  wanted  the  doctor.  I  was  seldom 
ill,  and  it  frightened  him  thoroughly  awake. 

I  said  I  was  not  ill.  It  was  but  a  passing 
unhappiness,  and  he  must  go  to  sleep.  In  the 
effort  to  keep  me  from  thinking  I  was  ill,  he 
began  to  talk — and  in  five  minutes  I  was  mak 
ing  my  suggestions.  He  was  in  the  humor  to 
agree  with  me  on  any  subject.  Like  all  men 
whose  whole  happiness  lies  in  their  homes,  a 
fear  of  illness  in  the  wife  is  potent.  Silly 
women,  learning  that,  wear  it  out. 

In  an  hour  we  had  agreed  that  instead  of 
having  a  general  retail  store  in  Fowlersburg, 
we  were  to  have  a  wholesale  house,  principally 
for  tobacco,  barrel  staves  and  "ties"  (the 
blocks  of  wood  on  which  railroads  are  laid). 
I  proved  to  my  husband  that  his  brain  was  so 
great  that  he  should  use  it  in  making  other 
men  do  the  petty  detail  of  work. 

When  we  went  back  to  bed  my  suffocation 
was  gone  and  my  husband  had  a  new  set  of 
ideas  and  a  warm  glow  at  his  heart  because  his 
wife  understood  him. 

There  was  one  point  upon  which   I  was  firm. 


Early  Days  in  Fowlersburg  25 

My  husband  wanted  to  build  a  new  house  in 
town.  He  told  me  he  could  now  afford  a  home 
which  would  cost  five  thousand  dollars,  and  he 
had  talked  to  Mr.  Gallison,  the  chief  carpenter 
in  Fowlersburg  who  built  all  its  houses,  about 
making  a  plan.  But  I  begged  that  just  now 
he  would  not  take  five  thousand  dollars  from 
his  capital.  With  his  cleverness  that  five  thou 
sand  dollars  would  increase  faster  than  it  would 
in  real  estate. 

The  fact  was,  I  knew  that  when  a  man  buys 
a  home  or  builds  one,  he  is  reluctant  to  move. 
I  meant  to  know  the  town  before  I  settled  in 
one  spot  for  a  long  term  of  years. 

In  going  to  Fowlersburg  there  was  another 
question — the  Church.  My  people  naturally 
went  to  the  Baptist  church  when  they  went 
anywhere.  There  was,  however,  no  Baptist 
church  in  our  neighborhood.  Once  a  month 
there  was  preaching  in  the  school  house  by  a 
Methodist  circuit  rider.  My  parents  had  all 
the  scorn  for  "sprinklers"  that  a  Scotch  Pres 
byterian  has  fora  "Romanist."  My  husband's 
family  in  Pennsylvania  had  been  Dunkards, 
but  he  kept  no  traces  of  it  nor  ever  mentioned 
it. 

When  I  was    twelve  years  old,  my  grand- 


26  The  Highroad 

father,  who  died  the  following  year,  took  me 
two  counties  away  to  a  Baptist  Association. 
This  is  something  like  a  Methodist  Conference. 
Delegates  are  sent  from  all  the  churches  round 
about,  and  as  many  other  people  come  as  wish 
to  have  a  change  of  scene.  The  people  in  the 
place  where  the  Association  meets  entertain 
them.  I  believe  they  still  hold  these  meet 
ings,  and  I  fancy  in  some  parts  of  this  my 
native  state,  the  entertainment  is  as  crude  now 
as  it  was  then. 

In  this  place  where  my  grandfather  and  I 
went,  there  was  but  one  house  large  enough  to 
hold  many  guests,  and  it  consisted  chiefly  of 
one  big  room  and  an  enormous  "porch."  We 
ate  on  the  "porch"  and  we  all  slept  in  that  one 
big  room.  The  farmer's  wife,  who  must  have 
been  a  very  clever  woman,  sewed  all  her  sheets 
and  her  neighbor's  sheets  together  until  she 
made  one  as  big  as  the  room.  She  had  straw 
brought  and  put  down  on  the  floor  a  foot  deep, 
then  she  made  one  enormous  bed.  The  sleep 
ers  lay  in  tiers.  Have  you  ever  seen  the  paint 
ing  called  "The  Conquerors"?  It  represents 
the  great  captains  of  the  world  riding  through 
Inferno,  their  way  bordered  by  rows  of  the 
dead  slain  on  victorious  fields.  It  was  in  such 


Early  Days  in  Fowlersburg  27 

tiers  that  we  slept  on  Mrs.  Daggett's  floor.  In 
the  center  of  each  row  a  man  and  his  wife 
would  lie  side  by  side.  From  his  other  side 
would  go  out  a  row  of  men,  from  hers  a  row  of 
women.  I  didn't  like  it.  After  we  were  all 
settled  one  night,  I  called  out  to  my  grand 
father.  Isaid: 

"Grandpap,  were  they  sleeping  like  this 
when  Ruth  got  up  and  lay  at  the  feet  of  Boaz?" 

He  reached  over  two  ladies  and  a  husband 
and  slapped  me. 

I  had  read  of  nothing  like  this  in  mysteries, 
and  I  imbibed  the  idea  that  Baptists  were  vul 
gar.  As  I  grew  a  little  older  I  knew  that  all 
"dissenters"  were  outcasts.  What  a  dissenter 
was  I  didn't  know — only  that  he  was  something 
that  did  not  belong  to  the  Established  Church. 
I  thought  we  had  an  Establishment  in  Amer 
ica,  and  I  believed  it  to  be  a  sect.  Naturally 
when  I  found  we  had  nothing  of  the  kind,  my 
impulse  was  toward  the  Episcopalian  church. 
A  church  is  a  club  that  any  man  can  force  his 
way  into.  But  I  was  cautious,  I  did  not  want 
to  make  any  mistakes. 

We  went  to  Fowlersburg  presently,  taking  a 
little  house  on  the  one  central  street.  My 
husband  had  begun  his  business,  and  already 


28  ^he  Highroad 

knew  all  the  business  men.  As  he  was  pros 
perous  and  a  little  better  educated  than  most 
of  the  men  there,  he  became  very  speedily  a 
leading  citizen.  The  town  was  small  then,  with 
one  paved  sidewalk  and  about  three  thousand 
inhabitants. 

Socially  it  was  fit  for  Mr.  Thomas  Hardy's 
consideration.  The  leading  family  was  named 
Jones.  Its  founder  was  still  alive;  he  was 
the  illegitimate  son  of  a  roystering  blade 
who  was  said  to  have  had  sons  enough  on  the 
right  and  left  hands  in  his  congressional  dis 
trict  to  send  him  to  Congress  when  he  was 
fifty.  He  use'd  to  acknowledge  any  that  were 
brought  to  his  notice,  provided  they  were 
good  looking  or  "smart."  He  always  declared 
that  he  had  brought  no  "lunk  heads"  into  the 
world. 

The  Fowlersburg  Jones  was  acknowleged, 
and  as  his  mother  died  at  his  birth  he  was 
adopted  by  his  father's  wife.  Now  and  then 
the  story  of  a  woman's  doing  such  a  thing  is 
told  as  though  it  were  the  unique  act  of  self- 
sacrifice.  In  fact  it  happened  hundreds  of 
times  before  our  civilization  became  so  com 
plex.  Mrs.  Benjamin  Franklin  adopted  her 
husband's  illegitimate  son.  It  is  an  American 


Early  Days  in  Fowlersburg  29 

habit  to  furnish  the  generations  behind  with 
the  same  set  of  ideas  that  controls  this  one. 
It  is  folly  to  say  that  an  American  woman  will 
do  that  thing  to-day,  although  I  have  heard 
men  call  it  "a  womanly  thing  to  do." 

This  man  at  this  time  was  very  old  and  had 
a  large  family  of  children  and  grandchildren. 
He  had  been  educated,  studied  law,  and  had 
educated  his  children.  They  seemed  to  have 
a  conviction  that  nobody  knew  of  old  Colonel 
(of  militia)  Jones's  parentage.  Heaven  knows! 
They  may  not  have  known  it  themselves.  If 
they  did  they  had  unusually  thick  skins.  I 
have  always  much  admired  the  idea  of  the  old 
Colonel,  coming  back  to  the  very  county  in 
which  he  was  born  to  make  his  fight  against  his 
birth.  The  story  couldn't  follow  him,  because 
he  met  it  on  its  own  doorstep.  But  his  family 
made  itself  an  object  of  ridicule  by  the  high 
and  mighty  airs  affected.  And  yet,  such  is  the 
power  of  assurance  and  audacity,  it  became 
the  leading  family  of  the  town,  although  there 
were  people  there  of  gentle  birth. 

The  story  of  that  one  family  would  fill  this 
book  many  times.  Old  Colonel  Jones  married 
a  farmer's  daughter,  who  was  clever,  and  her 
sons  were  clever  men;  yet  it  is  a  curious 


30  tfhe  Highroad 

study  to  see  how  the  original  pair,  the  royster- 
ing  grandfather  and  the  weak  farm  girl  have 
marked  the  generations.  One  of  them  caused 
me  a  bad  half  hour  years  ago  by-  suddenly 
claiming  my  acquaintance.  She  was  yellow 
wigged  and  painted  and  perfumed  and  dia 
monded.  There  is  a  grandson  in  the  peniten 
tiary,  they  tell  me  now.  After  all,  there  is 
something  in  having  your  blood  honest. 

There  was  another  family,  very  intimate  with 
this  one  in  a  surface  fashion,  that  was  equally 
amusing  to  the  lover  of  comedy.  Do  not 
imagine  that  my  sense  of  humor  was  suffi 
ciently  cultivated  in  those  days  to  appreciate 
the  situation  at  its  true  value.  It  took  years 
and  experience  for  me  to  get  my  glass  adjusted. 
But  it  was  there  all  the  time  for  the  seeing  eye. 

The  name  of  this  second  family  was  Lossing, 
and  it  was  what  my  father  would  have 
called  "chief  cook  and  bottle  washer"  (to 
think  of  the  grandfather  of  my  girls  saying  a 
vulgar  thing  like  that!),  in  the  Episcopal 
church.  This  made  another  example  of  the 
power  of  assurance. 

Then  there  were  two  women,  sisters  they 
said,  and  the  meek  little  husband  of  one  of 
them  who  kept  books  while  his  womenkind 


Early  Days  in  Fowlersburg  31 

taught  music  and  disseminated  gossip.  He 
was  a  bookkeeper  for  my  husband  for  a  time,  a 
position  which  he  lost  very  suddenly  after  I 
had  heard  the  reading  of  my  character  which 
the  music  teacher  gave.  Poor  things!  Fow 
lersburg  made  the  appalling  discovery  one  day 
that  instead  of  being  Berlin  Protestants  as  they 
were  supposed  to  be,  German  born,  they  were 
Baltimore  Jews  who  had  dropped  their  religion 
as  unprofitable.  Never  shall  I  forget  the  pall 
which  fell  that  day  upon  the  church  which  they 
had  deceived.  I  shared  in  it,  for  I  naturally 
became  an  Episcopalian. 


32  'The  Highroad 


III 


We  'Take  a  House 

According  to  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer,  each  of 
us  is  the  result  of  environment.  I  suppose  I 
am  one  of  the  exceptions  which  proves  the  rule. 
Otherwise,  I  should  give  a  careful  study  of 
Fowlersburg  society  at  this  time  that  the  stu 
dents  of  human  nature  (myself  included),  for 
whose  pleasure  and  enlightenment  this  history 
is  written,  might  see  the  forces  which  created 
me.  These  people  taught  me  little  except  what 
to  avoid. 

I  used  to  look  at  the  women  who  had  grown 
old  in  contentment  in  Fowlersburg  and  won 
der.  They  were,  some  of  them,  women  of 
beauty,  with  small  but  certain  incomes,  with 
fairly  good  families.  They  had  a  chance  I 
had  never  had,  and  yet  they  had  been  content 
to  live  all  their  lives  in  a  little  round  of  gossip 
and  housekeeping.  They  felt  satisfied  when 
their  daughters  married  the  first  young  man 
who  presented  himself.  Of  course  I  had  done 
the  same  thing,  but  I  had  no  choice  and 
looked  far  beyond  for  my  own  children. 


We  Take  a  House  33 

My  ignorance  was  such  in  those  days  that  I 
actually  expected  the  people  who  made  up  the 
little  society  in  Fowlersburg  to  live  like  the 
people  in  my  English  novels.  These  novels 
were  my  text-books  and  my  only  ones.  Natu 
rally,  I  tried  to  form  my  own  simple  household 
upon  their  models.  It  was  a  little  while  before 
I  realized  how  different  it  was  from  the  ways 
of  other  people — and  how  fortunate  for  me. 
They,  dear  simple  souls,  could  not  conceive  of 
anybody  doing  anything,  particularly  anything 
so  simple  as  the  ordering  of  a  household  in  any 
other  manner  than  the  manner  in  which  she 
had  been  brought  up. 

I  had  two  servants  now — one  was  a  nurse  for 
the  children  and  the  other  the  general  servant 
that  was  customary  in  the  town.  The  wages  of 
a  "girl,"  as  this  general  servant  was  called, 
ranged  from  a  dollar  and  a  quarter  to  two  dol 
lars  a  week.  I  didn't  know  that.  I  had  never 
had  a  servant,  but  only  a  woman  to  work  by 
the  day.  I  had  given  her  fifty  cents  a  day. 
Naturally  I  concluded  that  this  was  the  proper 
wage.  My  husband  paid  his  men  by  the  month. 
I  consequently  told  the  first  servant  who  applied 
that  I  paid  fifteen  dollars  a  month.  This  may 
sound  most  trivial,  but  I  discovered  later  that 


34        •  The  Highroad 


no  circus  which  came  to  Fowlersburg  with  bands 
and  posters  and  parades  ever  so  successfully 
advertised  as  I  did  by  that  simple  statement. 

This  move  might  have  made  me  most  un 
popular  except  that  I  was  following  my  text 
books.  I  asked  for  a  recommendation  from 
the  last  mistress  and  I  would  not  take  a  servant 
without  it.  This  effectually  prevented  my  com 
mitting  that  unpardonable  sin,  known  in  Fow 
lersburg  as  "coaxing  off  other  people's  girls." 

I  finally  by  this  means  secured  two  sisters, 
the  daughters  of  a  respectable  farmer.  In 
deed,  they  were  of  about  the  same  origin  as  my 
own,  a  fact  which  I  did  not  then  acknowledge 
even  to  myself.  I  knew  how  to  cook,  and  with 
the  aid  of  a  cook  book  I  managed  to  teach  the 
really  intelligent  elder  girl  ways  which  not  only 
filled  her  with  awe  but  sent  her  about  proudly 
proclaiming  that  she  didn't  live  with  "common 
people." 

I  had  of  course  supposed  that  society  in 
Fowlersburg,  which  seemed  to  me  then  like  a 
metropolis,  ate  its  dinners  in  the  evening 
according  to  my  English  novel  standards.  I 
didn't  quite  dare  ask  my  husband  to  do  that. 
But  as  a  country  breakfast,  dinner  and  supper 
are  almost  identical  in  constituents,  I  had  no 


We  Take  a  House  35 

difficulty.  The  servants  simply  called  the 
dinner  "luncheon,"  and  the  supper  "dinner." 
My  husband  thought  (if  the  innovation  gave 
his  busy  brain  a  thought  at  all)  that  it  was  the 
servants'  peculiarity  instead  of  mine. 

It  was  the  same  with  another  thing  which 
seems  too  trivial  to  mention,  and  yet  its  prac 
tice  made  a  difference.  That  was  the  "Papa" 
and  "Mamma"  by  which  my  children  ad 
dressed  us.  I  had  said  "Pap"  and  "Mother," 
but  I  had  the  children  say  Father  and  Mother, 
because  the  French  Papa  and  Mamma  would 
have  been  impossible  of  pronunciation  to  me  in 
my  country  home.  With  the  coming  of  the 
new  servants  the  change  was  easy.  They  un 
consciously  taught  the  children  what  I  told 
them  to  say.  Does  this  seem  too  trivial? 
Believe  me,  it  is  of  trifles  that  life,  or  at  any 
rate,  social  life  is  made. 

At  this  time  we  had  a  regular  income  of 
about  seven  thousand  dollars  a  year — but  we 
spent  about  twenty-five  hundred — and  were  rich. 

How  I  struggled  over  that  little  house  in 
which  we  lived!  We  went  into  the  house  at 
the  period  of  black  wall  paper  and  shaded 
rooms.  I  wonder  if  the  memory  of  anyone  else 
goes  back  to  that  time.  I  believe  they  called 


36  'The  Highroad 

it  Morris  paper,  and  it  was  supposed  to  have 
something  to  do  with  sunflowers  and  aestheti- 
cism.  Living  in  the  country  and  on  old  fash 
ioned  English  novels,  this  movement  escaped 
me.  I  had  not  even  a  friend  to  tell  me  of  it. 
I  never  read  a  newspaper,  seldom  a  magazine. 
I  could  only  follow  the  lines  of  the  English 
"cottages"  I  read  of,  and  work  in  chintz. 
"The  ladies'  morning  room"  was  always  chintz 
with  "bunches  of  roses"  in  my  novels. 

Entering  now  into  a  place  where  I  could  let 
myself  "go,"  I  also  had  a  morning  room,  and 
it  was  done  in  chintz  with  bunches  of  roses. 

In  some  of  the  early  reprints  of  English 
books,  were  copied  the  good  English  illustra 
tions  by  men  like  Frederick  Leighton  and  Fred 
Walker.  When  these  represented  interiors  I 
pinned  my  faith  to  them.  Low  book  shelves, 
wicker  chairs  and  a  tea  table,  wide  couches 
with  chintz  flounces,  draped  dressing  tables — 
I  had  them  all. 

Nobody  will  ever  know  the  bitterness  of  my 
mortification  at  discovering,  when  I  went  to 
return  my  visits,  that  I  was  all  out  of  fashion, 
that  I  ought  to  have  had  black  wall  paper  and 
a  dark  carpet,  and  dingy  curtains.  But  I  had 
the  chintz  and  wicker  and  I  couldn't  afford  to 


We  Take  a  House  37 

change  them,  so  I  made  the  best  of  them. 
Like  anything  else  you  make  the  best  of,  other 
people  came  in  a  little  time,  to  copying  them 
and  envying  me  the  possession  of  them.  They, 
too,  most  of  them,  had  read  an  English  novel  or 
two  (there  seemed  to  be  nothing  else  to  read  in 
those  days),  and  "morning  room"  and  "draw 
ing-room" — finished  in  chintz — sounded  as  ele 
gant  to  them  as  the  "lark  rising  to  meet  the 
sun"  sounded  poetic  when  they  read  it  in 
newspaper  verses.  That  every  room  in  my 
little  cottage  was  morning  room  and  afternoon 
room,  too,  was  as  unsuspected  by  them  as  that 
America  has  no  lark. 

Again  1  must  call  attention  to  that  curious 
lack  of  application  by  the  majority  of  peo 
ple  of  what  they  know.  My  new  acquaint 
ances  looked  upon  me  as  a  superior  sort  of  per 
son  because  I  had  possessions  of  which  they  had 
read.  Even  the  fact  that  my  children  wore 
white  pinafores  like  those  in  English  illustra 
tions  and  had  their  pretty  fair  hair  brushed  down 
their  backs,  made  them  in  a  sense  superior. 
There  was  not  a  woman  in  the  town  who  could 
not  have  done  what  I  did,  who  had  not  my 
information.  What  she  lacked  was  the  con 
nection  between  information  and  action. 


38  The  Highroad 

I  shall  never  forget  the  sensation  when  I 
gave  some  callers  afternoon  tea,  from  my 
"drawing-room"  tea  table.  My  servants  told 
me  how  they  heard  of  it  everywhere  and  people 
wanted  to  know  if'  it  was  a  regular  meal  and  if 
we  had  anything  after  it.  That  was  long  before 
the  day  of  wrought-iron  tea  kettles  and  the 
souvenir  spoons  which  became  in  1888  as  gen 
eral  as  upright  pianos. 

But  these  things  were  not  funny  to  me  in 
those  days.  I  was  blundering  along  after  the 
only  model  I  had.  I  knew  these  village 
women  to  be  far  above  me  in  breeding,  educa 
tion,  everything.  I  was  humble  before  them. 
I  had  come  there  believing  that  "society"  in 
one  place  was  exactly  like  society  in  another, 
and  I  was  trying  my  best  to  take  my  place 
by  behaving  as  nearly  like  a  respectable 
English  duchess  as  circumstances  would  per 
mit.  I  even  had  the  conscience  of  the  good 
Duchess  in  those  days.  I  used  to  search  my 
soul  and  dream  of  the  higher  life.  Oh,  how 
the  comedy  of  it  has  come  like  a  sharp  scent  in 
my  nostrils  since,  half  a  pleasure  and  half  a 
pain, — poor  ignorant  me  truckling  to  the 
Joneses  and  the  Mendals! 


I  Become  the  Head  of  the  Family      39 


IV 


/  Become  the  Head  of  the  Family 

I  wish  that  I  could  keep  this  narrative  in 
Fowlersburg  a  little  longer.  There  were  so 
many  people  there  that  I  should  enjoy  writing 
about — telling  even  to  myself,  if  this  story  is 
never  read  by  another — what  I  saw  below  the 
surface  they  believed  themselves  to  present  to 
the  world. 

There  was  Mr.  Bliss,  the  clergyman.  He 
was,  I  heard  later,  the  son  of  a  Methodist  book 
agent  up  in  Pennsylvania  somewhere.  He  had 
infinite  tact  and  a  "beautiful  manner."  Some 
times  he  took  afternoon  tea  with  me  and  talked 
about  the  age  of  confirmation,  or  neatly  demol 
ished  heresy.  He  was  as  easy  in  his  acquired 
theology  as  I  in  my  own  new  manners.  We 
each  had  the  air  of  inheritors.  We  played  the 
game  as  solemnly  as  two  children  who  are 
"dressing  up." 

We  lived  in  Fowlersburg  for  seven  years.  I 
have  heard  since,  many  times,  in  many  a 
roundabout  way,  that  the  people  in  the  town 
who  knew  me  "cannot  understand"  my  sue- 


4O  'xbe  Highroad 


cess.  They  call  it  luck.  They  remind  them 
selves  and  each  other  what  an  "ordinary,  quiet, 
plain  little  woman"  I  was.  They  give  my 
children  credit  for  having  developed  a  wonder 
ful  talent  for  social  conquest,  and  they  speak 
of  the  remarkable  influence  of  a  foreign  educa 
tion  and  the  opportunities  for  meeting  men  of 
title  and  fortune  in  the  old  world.  I  believe 
myself  to  be  responsible  for  the  breaking  up  of 
several  respectable  and  ambitious  Fowlersburg 
families  whose  fathers  toil  at  law  office  or 
"store"  while  the  wives  and  children  live  in 
pensions  in  Rome  or  Paris  —  waiting  for  my 
"luck."  It  is  pitiful,  isn't  it? 

They  have  no  sort  of  conception  that  to  be  a 
"plain,  quiet  little  woman"  was  my  success  in 
Fowlersburg. 

My  husband  died. 

His  death  came  after  one  of  the  journeys  10 
the  hills  he  had  been  taking  very  frequently 
lately,  and  the  typhoid  pneumonia,  which 
strikes  so  swiftly  in  West  Virginia,  had  waited 
for  a  moment  of  extra  fatigue  in  his  hard-work 
ing  life  to  find  him  defenseless. 

It  is  the  custom  in  West  Virginia  to  bury  the 
dead  within  thirty-six  hours  —  but  I  couldn't. 
By  delaying  the  funeral  four  days,  I  uncon- 


I  Become  the  Head  of  the  Family      41 

sciously  added  another  instance  to  my  record 
of  doing  everything  "in  style"  (as  they  said). 
They  all  knew  that  in  the  east  (everything 
beyond  Harper's  Ferry  is  "the  east")  they 
delayed  funerals. 

My  husband  had  been  caught  by  death  at  an 
unlucky  moment.  He  had  made  moves  which 
he  alone  understood — for  his  methods  of  doing 
business  had  become  swift,  and  it  was  impos 
sible  to  consult  me  on  every  transaction.  He 
had  purchased  wild  land.  He  had  planned  to 
build  railroads  through  the  back  counties  of 
West  Virginia  where  there  was  then  not  a 
church  nor  a  school  house,  and  where  the  in 
habitants  were  as  wild  as  the  Scotch  in  the  days 
of  James  I. 

Mark  Twain  has  accused  Sir  Walter  Scott  of 
creating  the  southern  feuds  by  setting  up  a 
false  idea  of  chivalry  a  generation  or  two  ago, 
which  has  degenerated  with  the  people.  He 
leaves  out  of  consideration  the  fact  that  these 
people  are  the  actual  descendants  of  the  blood 
of  which  Walter  Scott  wrote.  They  have  de 
generated  in  some  instances,  and  in  some  have 
remained  simply  stationary,  giving  the  appear 
ance  of  degeneration  in  the  light  of  the  present 
day. 


42  The  Highroad 

I  have  heard  old  border  ballads  sung  at  a 
back  county  "play  party' '  where  they  danced  to 
the  tunes  they  sang  themselves  instead  of  to  a 
fiddle.  They  called  the  dances  "plays. "  One 
of  the  popular  ones  is  called  "Over  the  Water 
to  Charlie."  They  have  not  the  faintest  idea 
that  such  a  person  as  Charlie  Stuart  ever  lived, 
but  the  children  know  the  song  even  to-day. 

Like  Queen  Victoria,  I  date  my  later  life 
from  the  beginning  of  my  widowhood.  It  was 
an  event  that  had  never  entered  into  our  calcu 
lations.  My  husband  was  so  strong,  so  certain. 
When  in  those  early  days  I  looked  forward,  it 
was  to  becoming  the  great  lady  of  West  Vir 
ginia.  After  a  while  we  should  have  a  place 
somewhere  in  the  mountains,  a  great  game 
preserve,  and  we  should  be  the  important 
people,  spending  our  winters  in  Washington. 
I  am  sure  that  had  I  kept  a  diary  then  and 
recorded  my  day  dreams,  I  should  find  on  turn 
ing  the  leaves  that  I  had  destined  one  of  my 
girls  for  a  President's  wife,  and  one  for  a  Sen 
ator's  wife.  My  boy  was  to  have  been  a  Sen 
ator  himself.  That  was  before  the  days  when  it 
came  to  be  so  generally  understood  that  a 
Senatorship  is  sometimes  for  sale.  Now  I 
know  that  my  husband  would  probably  have 


I  Become  the  Head  of  the  Family      43 

had  one  had  he  lived,  and  1  suppose  in  that 
case  Fowlersburg  would  have  pointed  him  out 
as  another  wonderful  genius  with  a  poor  idiot 
for  a  wife. 

These  plans  were  too  great  for  my  carrying 
out,  although  everything  was  left  to  me.  My 
husband  trusted  me.  As  for  the  executors  of 
my  husband's  will,  one  a  bank  cashier  named 
Less,  and  the  other  one  an  honest  conservative 
old  lawyer  who  had  once  been  the  governor  of 
the  state,  they  gave  me  to  understand  that  they 
feared  that  my  husband's  illness  had  been  corn 
ing  on  for  some  time  and  that  his  brain  had 
been  affected,  judging  by  his  investments. 
They  told  me  that  I  could  count  upon  noth 
ing  from  these  wild  lands.  It  was  impossible 
to  sell  them  at  any  price. 

This  worthless  land  became  my  most  valu 
able  asset.  Everything  depends  upon  the  use 
to  which  you  put  a  thing.  The  Kohinoor  would 
not  save  a  man  from  starving  if  nobody  knew  he 
owned  it,  while  one  could  live  for  a  long  time 
on  a  few  paste  diamonds  that  people  believed 
to  be  real. 

After  my  husband  was  buried  I  insisted  upon 
having  the  stores  sold  and  everything  put  into 
safe  securities,  so  that  I  knew  my  income  ex- 


44  2^<?  Highroad 

actly.  I  found  that  I  had  from  that  source 
thirty-two  hundred  dollars  a  year.  That  was 
all.  I  had  expected  to  have  at  the  very  least 
twelve  thousand;  and  had  not  the  wild  lands 
and  certain  railroad  concessions  (if  that  is  what 
they  are  called)  been  purchased,  I  should  have 
had  that.  Outside  of  this  income  was  the  life 
insurance  policy  for  forty  thousand  dollars,  for 
my  sole  benefit. 

In  the  early  days  I  made  my  plans.  *  would 
go  abroad  and  educate  the  children. 

I  could  cry  now  at  the  pathos  of  my  belief  in 
the  things  I  read.  One  of  these  that  was  re 
peated  so  often  that  I  never  thought  of  ques 
tioning  it,  was  that  living  on  "the  continent" 
was  cheap.  Whenever  my  English  families  in 
the  novels  became  hard  up,  they  always  went 
to  the  cheap  places  abroad  to  economize.  I 
have  never  discovered  any  place  on  the  globe 
any  cheaper  than  Fowlersburg,  West  Virginia. 
They  say  there  are  some  villages  in  Virginia 
and  Georgia  that  are  cheaper,  places  where  you 
can  buy  a  broiler  for  ten  cents,  and  have  a 
large  washing  done  for  twenty-five.  In  Fowlers- 
burg  a  day's  washing  cost  fifty  cents  in  those 
days.  I  believe  they  ask  seventy-five  in  these. 

We  had  never  built  a  house,   so  I  sold  my 


I  Become  the  Head  of  the  Family     45 

furniture   and    we   went    away  to    Baltimore, 
where  we  took  a  small  steamer  for  Bremen. 

My  forty  thousand  dollars  added  another  fif 
teen  hundred  a  year  to  my  income  for  the  pres 
ent.  I  made  up  my  mind,  however,  that  when 
the  time  came  the  forty  thousand  dollars  should 
be  spent  to  launch  my  girls. 


46  The  Highroad 


V 


Seek  a  Wider  Life 

Ignorance  is  the  most  foolish  thing  in  this 
world,  but  the  proverb  maker  who  said,  "A 
little  knowledge  is  a  dangerous  thing"  was  a 
genius.  We  are  a  good  deal  like  bread.  As  raw 
dough  we  are  promising.  Until  we  get  so  old 
that  we  sour,  we  may  be  manipulated  into  good 
loaves  at  any  time;  but  put  us  in  the  oven, 
take  us  out  half-baked  and  allow  us  to  cool  in 
that  state — and  we  are  done  for.  As  for  me, 
I  was  below  the  "little  knowledge"  state.  I 
had  been  only  near  enough  to  the  fire  to  rise  a 
little. 

If  we  had  gone  to  Europe  by  way  of  a 
Cunarder,  with  its  crowds  of  travelers,  I  doubt 
if  we  should  have  reached  my  destination  at 
all.  I  think  I  should  have  developed  an  ill 
ness  which  would  have  brought  us  back  to 
Fowlersburg.  But  on  the  little  ship  that  took 
us  out  in  late  August  was  a  German  scientific 
man  from  Jena.  I  had  not  so  much  as  a  maid 
with  me,  only  four  children,  ranging  from  eight 
to  sixteen  years.  Fortunately,  they  were  as 


We  Seek  a  Wider  Life  47 

healthy  as  little  animals  and  none  of  us  was  at 
all  seasick. 

There  were  but  five  passengers  besides  our 
selves,  and  the  four  were  ill  the  first  days, 
allowing  Dr.  Helmholz  to  become  friends 
with  us.  It  was  he  who  told  me  bluntly  that 
Germany  was  not  the  place  for  us,  but  Lau 
sanne;  it  was  he  who  made  out  the  lessons  for 
the  children;  it  was  he  who  told  me  that  places 
like  Lausanne  were  filled  with  ignorant  Eng 
lish,  of  the  stupidest  class  "to  be  let  alone." 
(How  I  have  blessed  him  since  for  keeping  me 
out  of  the  middle-class,  although  that  was  so 
far  from  his  object!)  He  finally  gave  me  a  let 
ter  to  a  man  who  "might  give  me  some  advice 
for  my  boy,"  and  headed  me  for  Lausanne. 

The  "advice,"  when  I  reached  it,  was  from 
a  man  whose  original  home  had  been  in  Hun 
gary.  He  was  a  nobleman  who  had  resigned 
his  titles  and  given  himself  up  to  scientific 
pursuits  in  a  villa  on  Lake  Geneva.  He  had  a 
wife — somewhere.  Dr.  Helmholz  knew  him 
only  as  a  learned  man,  and  had  no  thought  of 
his  position  otherwise.  That  he  knew  man  as 
well  as  his  origin  was  a  matter  of  no  moment 
to  Jena. 

Monsieur    Prolmann,    as    he     was     known. 


48  The  Highroad 

became,  most  inconspicuously,  my  friend.  He 
was  a  man  of  fifty-five,  who  sometimes  enter 
tained  distinguished  guests.  The  English  and 
Americans  who  gossiped  in  the  pensions  around 
Lausanne  and  Geneva  hardly  knew  his  name. 
His  life  was  lived  in  the  beautiful  walled  gar 
den  where  presently  my  children  played. 

Instead  of  settling  in  a  pension,  as  had  been 
my  intention,  I  took  a  tiny  cottage,  on  his 
advice.  Being  in  heavy  mourning,  I  did  not 
visit  at  all — which  was  fortunate,  as  I  made 
a  reputation  for  reserve  which  was  most  use 
ful.  The  woman  who  was  the  social  arbiter 
of  Lausanne  in  those  days  is  the  mother-in-law 
of  the  steward  of  my  youngest  son-in-law's 
Devon  estates.  It  would  be  rather  awkward  if 
we  had  ever  been  on  visiting  terms  and  she 
could  speak  of  Jane's  childhood  as  one  of  its 
monitors. 

The  next  year  my  girls  went  to  Paris  to  a 
famous  convent,  and  it  was  my  only  regret  that 
they  had  not  gone  earlier.  A  girl  should  come 
out  at  seventeen.  The  "new  woman"  may  talk 
nonsense  and  higher  education  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing,  but  the  fact  remains  that  between 
sixteen  and  twenty-two,  a  well-brought-up  girl 
has  her  best  chances  to  marry.  Men  of  sense 


We  Seek  a  Wider  Life  49 

want  to  marry  a  girl  of  that  age.  They  want 
to  teach  her  what  to  know.  If  I  were  a  man 
there  is  nothing  on  earth  that  would  induce  me 
to  marry  a  girl  past  twenty-one.  A  widow — 
perhaps.  She  has  been  taught  by  another  man. 
But  the  majority  of  women  are  bad  teachers  for 
their  sex.  I  can  give  one  instance.  A  mother 
almost  invariably  tells  her  daughter  (when  she 
begins  to  see  that  she  is  going  to  need  advice) 
that  indifference  is  the  way  to  a  man's  heart. 
Nothing  was  ever  so  utterly  absurd.  A  man  is 
a  human  being,  and  it  is  the  law  of  human  na 
ture  that  we  should  like  those  who  like  us.  A 
man  craves  sympathy,  understanding,  sweet 
ness,  trustfulness.  Naturally  he  despises  a 
fool,  or  what  he  is  capable  of  recognizing  as  a 
fool.  We  instinctively  admire  ourselves,  be 
cause  we  try  to  be,  and  we  flatter  ourselves  we 
succeed  in  appearing  to  be,  the  thing  we  admire. 
When  another  finds  us  admirable  we  at  once 
pay  tribute  to  his  sense  and  taste. 

My  eldest  girl  would  not  be  ready  for  society 
for  two  years.  In  Continental  society  of  the 
best  class,  it  is  necessary  for  a  woman  not  only 
to  speak  French,  but  to  speak  it  elegantly. 
The  suppressed  smiles  I  have  seen  on  the  faces 
of  foreigners  when  some  American  women 


50  'The  Highroad 

attempted  French,  have  made  me  ashamed. 
Many  of  them  speak  fluently  and  confidently — 
servant's  French.  They  have  had  nurse  maids 
in  their  childhood  and  dressing  maids  after 
wards,  who  have  all  described  themselves  as 
"Parisian." 

In  most  cases  the  servants  are  from  the  prov 
inces.  In  all  cases  they  speak  a  tongue  impos 
sible  to  an  educated  Frenchman.  As  well 
might  a  French  lady  enter  a  New  York  draw 
ing-room  and  chatter  "h'aints"  and  "his'ns" 
or  Boweryese. 

The  nuns  in  the  convent  where  I  sent  my 
little  girls  were  ladies — not  very  clever  ladies, 
some  of  them,  but  bound  by  the  cast-iron 
mould  of  their  religious  and  social  order.  I 
have  heard  Americans  say  that  they  feared  that 
their  girls  might  become  Catholics,  and  have 
hesitated  at  this  convent  on  that  account. 

A  nun  who  educates  girls  never  teaches  them 
anything  which  will  interfere  with  a  marriage 
to  anybody — except  a  cad. 

Monsieur  Prolmann,  kind  in  those  early 
days,  with  the  grave  kindness  of  a  great  man 
whose  word  I  little  dreamed  of  disputing,  had 
given  Robert  his  own  secretary  for  some 
studies.  For  others  he  went  to  a  private  school 


We  Seek  a  Wider  Life  51 

where  German  boys  come  for  French.  Prol- 
mann  had  suggested  a  lady  he  knew  of  in 
Geneva  as  a  governess  for  the  girls.  I  found 
that  my  little  income  was  stretched  by  my  ex 
penses,  living  even  in  this  way. 

The  first  summer  we  made  an  excursion  to 
the  Italian  lakes,  taking  the  governess  with  us. 
Quite  by  chance  we  encountered  Mr.  Prolmann 
in  the  little  hotel  where  we  were  stopping.  I 
do  not  know  why  a  chance  encounter  like  this 
seems  to  give  an  intimate  air  to  a  casual 
acquaintance,  but  we  all  know  that  it  does.  I 
had  allowed  the  children  to  play  in  the  great 
garden  of  his  home  on  the  lake,  had  my 
self  once  or  twice  had  tea  on  the  terrace  with 
the  children  and  governess,  and  had  once  gone 
in  informally  after  dinner  to  hear  a  great  pian 
ist  who  was  staying  at  the  villa.  I  had  learned 
many  things  from  Prolmann,  many  that  I  felt 
sure  he  was  unconscious  of  having  taught  me. 

I  had  spent  that  first  winter  in  a  feverish 
study  of  French  and  I  had  succeeded  in  at  least 
speaking  carefully  and  grammatically.  One 
can  make  few  mistakes  in  conduct  when  one 
does  nothing,  but  still  I  followed  suggestions. 

This  night,  after  our  meeting  in  Italy,  the 
moon  had  come  up  gloriously,  and  the  elderly 


52  'The  Highroad 

governess  and  the  dry  middle-aged  secretary 
had  taken  the  children  for  a  walk  to  a  famous 
view.  It  was  early  and  Prolmann  and  I  sat  on 
a  balcony  of  the  hotel.  I  had  found  crepe  a 
trifle  heavy  for  travel,  and  I  had  on  a  thin 
gown  of  black  gauze  and  a  little  white  cloak 
belonging  to  Lucile. 

Suddenly  Prolmann  spoke.  I  had  been  con 
scious  for  some  time  that  he  was  looking  at 
me,  instead  of  the  ripple  of  the  moon  on  the 
lake  with  a  scrap  of  a  chateau  showing  be 
yond,  the  whole  looking  quite  like  the  painted 
views  with  mother-of-pearl  high  lights  which 
one  sees  on  old  fashioned  work  boxes. 

He  was  a  most  distinguished-looking  man, 
with  thin  white  hair  and  waxed  moustache, 
thick  black  eyebrows  accenting  the  pale  lined 
face  of  an  ascetic.  It  was  the  first  time  I  ever 
had  sat  alone  in  the  evening  with  any  man  ex 
cept  my  husband  and  seldom  with  him.  He, 
dead  a  year  now,  had  usually  gone  to  his 
office  or  to  bed  immediately  after  the  evening 
meal,  leaving  me  alone.  And  in  any  case  he 
was  by  no  means  a  romantic  figure.  He  wore 
a  chin  beard.  I  am  a  creature  of  imagination, 
and  I  suppose  it  was  because  it  was  the  first 
time  that  I  so  well  remember  every  detail  of 


We  Seek  a  Wider  Life  53 

that  evening  over  the  lake.  I  even  remember 
that  the  chair  in  which  I  sat  was  a  Moorish  one 
made  of  rushes  which  gave  me  a  long  slender 
look,  like  a  tall  willowy  woman.  I  admired 
myself  in  it  as  though  I  were  somebody 
else. 

"You  are  very  young  to  be  the  mother  of  two 
tall  daughters,"  Prolmann  said.  He  waited  as 
though  he  expected  me  to  speak  and  then  he 
went  on:  "It  will  be  a  pleasant  but  an  arduous 
task  to  put  them  into  the  world  they  should 
adorn." 

"It  is  concerning  their  lives  that  I  need 
advice,"  I  said. 

Prolmann  leaned  over  and  took  my  hand  in 
a  fatherly  fashion.  "It  is  wrong  for  so  young 
and  so  attractive  a  woman  to  lack  an  adviser. 
I  am  going  to  ask  that  I  may  put  my  expe 
rience  at  your  disposal.  Had  you  always  lived 
in  this  country,  I  should  doubtless  have  been 
your  husband's  friend.  (I  wondered  even  then 
if  Prolmann  believed  that.  The  thought 
causes  me  to  smile  now.)  I  should  probably 
have  been  god-father  to  your  children.  Allow 
me  to  take  that  position  which  distance  denied 
me."  He  was  still  holding  my  hand,  and 
pressing  it  gently.  Then  he  said  softly:  "I 


54  The  Highroad 

might  have  been  god-father  and  guardian  to 
you." 

I  did  not  speak  for  a  minute.  I  have  always 
found  that  silence  needs  no  explanation.  I 
had  two  replies  and  I  wished  to  choose  between 
them.  The  first  was  a  light  sentence  saying 
that  careful  parents  did  not  choose  children  for 
god-parents,  and  as  he  must  have  been  a  child 
when  I  was  christened,  he  could  not  have  been 
mine.  That  would  have  done  for  some  men — 
most  men.  They  like  to  be  called  young  when 
youth  has  past,  however  bold  the  flattery.  But 
not  this  one.  I  chose  my  second. 

"Oh,  that  you  had!"  I  said  softly.  "You 
would  have  saved  me  so  much." 

And  my  sense  of  humor  did  not  twitch  a 
muscle  of  my  face.  But  imagine,  if  you  will, 
this  finished  worldling,  this  scientist,  this 
courtier,  as  the  god-father  of  my  parents'  child 
in  the  wilds  of  West  Virginia!  Yet  actually, 
there  in  the  moonlight,  lying  in  the  Moorish 
chair,  I  felt  my  part  of  an  interesting  young 
widow  who  had  suffered. 

In  his  role  of  adviser,  Prolmann  suggested 
sending  the  girls  to  the  great  Parisian  convent. 
I  told  him  frankly  that  to  do  so  would  make 
serious  inroads  upon  my  capital,  as  the  school 


We  Seek  a  Wider  Life  55 

was  a  very  expensive  one.  My  income  was  a 
little  over  four  thousand  dollars.  The  convent 
would  demand  a  thousand  apiece  for  the  girls. 
But  even  to  Prolmann  I  did  not  betray  any 
thing.  It  was  at  this  time  that  I  began  to  make 
an  asset  of  the  wild  land. 

I  told  him  that  our  estates  were  unremunera- 
tive — and  that  sentiment  would  not  allow  me  to 
sell  them.  They  comprised  an  area  that  was 
astounding  in  acre  numbers.  Considering  how 
the  ownership  of  the  utterly  worthless  land  put 
me  into  the  class  of  great  land  owners  in 
Europe,  I  have  often  wondered  why  such  a  pos 
session  has  not  been  oftener  used  by  clever 
Americans  with  small  capital.  There  are  miles 
of  desert  lands  in  Arizona  and  California  that 
would  sound  just  as  well  as  the  most  cultivated 
farms — and  a  clever  person  can  always  let  in 
formation  get  about.  In  Europe,  where  every 
decent  American  and  some  indecent  ones 
are  sized  up  and  labelled,  a  little  matter  of  a 
hundred  thousand  acres  looks  just  as  well  as 
the  title  of  an  Italian  prince  looks  over  here. 
I  think  those  acres  impressed  even  Prolmann. 
He  looked  at  me  gravely  and  then  puffed  his 
delicate  lips. 

"Those  prices  at  the   convent   are   for   the 


56  'The  Highroad 

bourgeoisie  and  foreigners  only;  not  for  my 
god-child." 

He  went  up  to  Paris  and  arranged  matters. 
A  little  later  I  thought  it  probable  that  he  paid 
the  bills  out  of  his  own  pocket.  If  he  did, 
that  was  his  own  lookout.  He  could  never 
know  that  I  suspected  it.  Consequently  we 
were  in  exactly  the  same  position  as  though  it 
were  influence  instead  of  money  that  he  used. 

I  was  enabled  to  send  the  girls  to  the  con 
vent  for  one  thousand  dollars  payment  for  the 
three.  I  took  a  lease  of  my  little  house  in 
Lausanne  for  another  year,  and  settled  down 
with  Robert. 

The  house  had  been  altered  for  an  American 
invalid  who  came  to  Lausanne  to  be  near  the 
famous  Dr.  Roux,  and  it  was  actually  comfort 
able.  An  open  fire  and  a  bath-room  were  its 
distinguishing  features.  Ah!  I  enjoyed  that 
winter! 

In  some  subtle  way  I  seemed  to  be  more  of  a 
girl  than  I  had  ever  been  in  my  life.  Girlhood 
is  a  matter  of  education  with  many.  Some 
have  it  by  genius,  but  the  majority  of  the 
female  young  of  the  human  species  are  simply 
raw,  unripe  women  who  need  to  be  as  carefully 
looked  after  as  other  unripe  fruit.  Unfortu- 


We  Seek  a  Wider  Life  57 

nately  a  good  many  are  of  such  a  poor  species, 
or  are  so  stung  by  insects  or  spoiled  by  wind 
and  rain  and  handling,  that  the  proportion  of 
well-flavored,  handsome,  sweet  women  is 
small. 

I  was  a  widow  with  four  children,  but  when 
the  girls  were  safely  in  the  convent,  and  Rob 
ert  was  away  with  his  tutors,  I  was  as-  free  as 
air  and  my  nature  seemed  to  be  awakening. 

I  arose  in  the  mornings  and  put  aside  my 
curtains  for  a  view  of  the  beautiful  mountains. 
I  had  my  coffee  in  bed  in  the  French  fashion 
with  an  end  of  delicious  French  bread  and 
sweet,  saltless  butter.  After  that,  I  supposed 
(in  my  tale  of  the  day)  I  went  for  a  walk;  in 
reality  I  generally  threw  myself  on  a  broad 
couch  before  my  open  fire  and  read  the  French 
books  Prolmann  sent  me — as  well  as  some  I 
purchased  myself.  Prolmann  would  have  dis 
approved  of  some  of  my  literature  I  am  afraid. 
I  remember  his  saying  once  that  a  woman 
might  do  almost  anything,  but  that  she  must 
never  hear  or  speak  a  word  that  was  not  deli 
cate. 

My  little  cottage  adjoined  Prolmann's  gar 
den,  so  that  his  visits  to  me  were  not  the  sub 
ject  of  comment  to  the  little  band  of  big-footed, 


58  The  Highroad 

badly-dressed  English  and  their  American 
imitators,  who  called  themselves  the  "English 
Colony."  My  servants  even  had  been  supplied 
by  Prolmann. 

Every  day  he  came  and  had  dejeuner  with 
me — Robert  had  his  luncheon  with  the  tutor  in 
the  villa  above — and  we  talked  about  every 
thing  in  the  universe.  I  wonder  if  I  can  ever 
explain  how  I  felt  toward  him.  He  was  the 
first  man  who  is  what  the  world  calls  a  gentle 
man,  that  I  had  ever  known  in  my  life. 

The  training,  the  understanding  of  civiliza 
tion,  society  and  the  rules  of  comfortable  liv 
ing  which  are  crystallized  into  the  gentleman 
create  a  charm  which  can  never  die.  It  is  all 
the  more  potent  to  one  unaccustomed  to  it. 
Even  Prolmann' s  manners  at  the  table  were 
charming  to  me. 

I  have  since  discovered  that  not  all  gentle 
men  on  the  continent  of  Europe  know  how  to 
eat  even  though  they  be  most  accomplished  in 
recognizing  what  to  eat.  I  have  seen  a  Grand 
Duke  whose  table  manners  would  disgrace  a 
motherless  school  boy — in  West  Virginia — and 
the  majority  of  his  friends  did  not  know  it. 

In  West  Virginia  we  sat  down  to  the  table 
for  the  primary  purpose  of  obtaining  nourish- 


We  Seek  a  Wider  Life  59 

ment — and  our  whole  attention  was  directed 
toward  that  end.  Our  food  was  good,  but  it 
had  no  more  "rhythm,"  as  Prolmann  would 
have  said,  than  the  hay  and  oats  in  the  horses' 
mangers.  I  was  learning  now  that  each  dish 
should  complement  the  other;  that  a  meal  was 
a  composition  intended  to  appeal  to  two  senses 
besides  that  of  taste.  We  thought  in  West  Vir 
ginia,  that  a  "course  dinner"  was  "stylish" 
simply  as  a  certain  cut  of  skirt  might  be  styl 
ish,  but  I  learned  now  that  the  element  of  har 
mony  in  dining  would  prevent  serving  all  the 
dishes  at  once,  as  it  would  prevent  all  the  keys 
on  a  piano  being  played  at  once,  or  all  the 
instruments  in  an  orchestra. 

To  be  put  into  a  gay  humor,  to  be  awakened 
to  the  zest  of  life,  and  to  share  your  joy  and 
play  it  in  talk  against  the  moods  of  others,  is 
the  art  of  dining  as  Prolmann  taught  it;  other 
wise  it  were  best  to  feed  alone. 

Sometimes  in  the  early  days  of  our  success  I 
used  to  wonder  what  I  should  have  been  with 
out  Prolmann,  and  I  shuddered,  thinking  of 
myself  as  one  of  the  poor,  silly  mothers  who 
drag  their  girls  about  Europe  and  expect  them 
to  make  chance  acquaintances  of  Dukes  as 
described  in  the  novels.  They  imagine  that 


60  'fbe  Highroad 

the  aristocracy  of  Europe  marries  after  that 
loose  fashion.  Sometimes  it  does,  but  not  the 
daughters  of  those  mothers.  In  the  rare  cases 
where  it  happens  the  daughters  do  their  own 
fishing.  We  see  it  over  and  over  again;  we 
read  of  it  every  day  in  the  newspapers.  The 
popular  comment  upon  the  Marquis  who  mar 
ries  a  music-hall  singer  is  "Fool"  !  Not  at  all.. 
All  men  are  exactly  like  that,  only  they  have 
not  run  against  the  attractive  bait  and  the  ex 
pert  fisher. 

Now  I  know  there  was  no  real  need  for  my 
shudders.  If  I  had  not  learned  Prolmann's 
lesson  I  should  have  learned  another.  That, 
however,  does  not  lessen  my  gratitude  to  him. 

There  was  one  object  lesson  that  came  to 
me  under  his  auspices,  which  I  very  probably 
never  should  have  seen  otherwise. 

He  told  me  one  day  that  he  was  expecting 
some  visitors.  It  was  late  in  the  winter  and 
fashionable  people  were  on  their  way  to  the 
South,  to  Cape  Martin  after  the  Queen,  to  Pau 
and  Nice.  Prolmann  never  spoke  of  men  and 
women  with  adjectives  which  defined  their  sta 
tions  in  life.  He  had  never  found  it  necessary. 
But  I  classified  in  my  own  mind.  So  it  was 
with  a  real  thrill  in  my  provincial  heart,  which 


We  Seek  a  Wider  Life  61 

has  always  kept  the  habit  of  thrilling  notwith 
standing  the  contempt  of  my  head,  that  I  dis 
covered  that  his  cousin  and  old  playmate  from 
England  was  the  famous  Duchess  of  Belcourt 
whose  photograph,  wearing  her  necklace  of 
pearls  the  size  of  cherries,  I  had  long  admired. 
I  was  asked  to  the  villa  to  luncheon  on  one  of 
the  two  days  she  spent  with  Prolmann,  and  my 
girls'  old  governess  was  pressed  into  duty  as 
my  companion.  Actually,  until  Prolmann  tact 
fully  suggested  her  in  that  capacity,  I  had  no 
idea  that  I  stood  in  need  of  such  an  appendage. 
I  found  the  Duchess  walking  on  the  terrace 
with  Prolmann  and  another  man,  a  tall, 
stooped,  slovenly  creature  with  tired,  bored 
eyes.  The  Duchess  wore  a  dress  of  cheviot, 
badly  made  to  my  eyes,  and  her  lined,  dis 
agreeable  face  was  smeared  (there  is  no  other 
word  for  it)  with  cosmetics,  over  which  a 
veil  was  tightly  drawn.  Her  figure  was  laced 
in,  but  with  the  thickness  finding  its  distorted 
way  into  evidence.  I  think  she  was  utterly 
indifferent  to  my  presence,  and  I  doubt  if  she 
had  any  clear  idea  who  I  was.  But  the  man 
with  her  remembered  me  in  after  years  when 
he  was  her  husband — and  a  little  more  tired,  a 
little  more  bored  than  in  those  days. 


62  The  Highroad 

When  I  joined  them,  Prolmann  coming  for 
ward  to  meet  me,  she  was  lecturing  him  upon 
some  appointments  he  had  made  and  some 
policy  pursued  not  to  her  liking,  for  he  was  a 
Cabinet  Minister  of  England,  and  she  was  an 
English  Duchess  who  was  supposed  by  an  ad 
miring  country  to  be  his  adviser,  one  of  those 
women  behind  the  throne  of  which  even  Peck- 
sniffian  England  boasts. 

They  were  traveling  together  as  they  often 
had  done  in  the  twenty  years  since  they  had 
been  friends. 

At  luncheon  she  paid  no  attention  to  me,  but 
kept  on  with  her  talk  of  people  and  events  and 
theories  concerning  which  I  knew  nothing. 
Lord  Hastings  now  and  then  spoke  to  Prol 
mann  or  to  me,  always  upon  subjects  far  from 
the  line  of  thought  carried  on  by  the  Duchess. 
She  called  him  by  his  Christian  name,  and 
seemed  to  me  to  speak  at  times  almost  with 
rudeness.  She  looked  years  his  senior,  as  I 
afterwards  discovered  she  was.  I  knew  the 
story  of  their  devotion  to  each  other.  I  had 
read  it  as  one  reads  the  chronicles  of  royalties, 
and  I  had  to  pinch  myself  to  realize  that  I  was 
sitting  here  facing  two  people  who  figured  to 
those  who  saw  them  from  afar  as  a  sort  of  mod- 


We  Seek  a  Wider  Life  63 

ern  Abelard  and  Heloise.  Could  these  be 
they?  As  I  looked  at  the  heavy  old  face  of 
the  woman,  with  the  untidy  masses  of  dyed  and 
false  hair  above  it,  the  eyebrows  marked  on 
above  contemptuous  old  eyes,  and  at  the  man — 
the  ancestral  legislator,  I  almost  laughed  aloud. 
I  went  frantically  back  over  my  opinion  of  my 
own  belongings,  and  for  at  least  a  moment, 
revised  them.  My  husband  had  been  some 
thing  like  this  man,  beard  and  all,  only  more 
intelligent.  The  woman,  in  Fowlersburg, 
West  Virginia,  would  have  been  considered  a 
type  of  cheap  lodging-house  keeper.  And 
then  I  lashed  myself  for  a  fool.  Was  I  to  go 
through  life  with  the  standards  of  Fowlers- 
burg?  That  was  provincialism  with  a  ven 
geance. 

This  was  a  great  party  leader  of  the  greatest 
nation  on  earth.  What  was  I?  I,  without 
traditions,  who  knew  nothing — whose  eyes 
were  blind,  who  had  not  the  key  of  under 
standing  to  enter  in  and  judge.  The  glamour 
of  their  great  position  took  me.  At  least  if  it 
did  not  entirely  take  me,  it  was  no  fault  of  my 
volition.  This  friendship  I  told  myself,  was 
historic.  It  was  of  consequence  to  the  nation. 
"Nice  customs  to  great  natures  bow,"  I  found 


64  The  Highroad 


myself  saying.  And  then  that  envy  of  the 
world  I  was  born  outside  of,  came  to  me. 
What  must  it  mean  to  be  in  that  rare  world 
above  the  laws  of  conventionality,  —  laws, 
which  I  saw  in  that  hour,  are  created  by  those 
above  them  that  those  beneath  may  stand  solid 
and  uphold  the  structure  upon  which  the  great 
disport  themselves. 

I  tried  to  express  something  of  this  to  Prol- 
mann  the  day  after  they  left.  We  sat  at 
dejeuner  in  my  sunny  little  sitting-room,  with 
the  white-topped  Swiss  mountains  outside. 
He  gave  one  of  his  unusual  smiles,  which  was 
like  a  breaking  up  of  his  face,  so  much  of  the 
humorous  man  of  the  world  did  it  show  behind 
the  impassive  mask  which  he  usually  carried 
like  a  blank  wall  against  curiosity.  Prol- 
mann's  teeth  were  beautiful,  and  I  realized  at 
times  like  these  that  at  some  time,  some 
woman  might  have  passionately  loved  that 
man  behind.  It  was  with  my  reason  I  knew 
this,  however.  He  never  struck  the  hour  of 
my  heart.  Now  he  leaned  over  my  little  round 
table,  glistening  with  the  beautiful  light  silver 
and  glass,  most  of  which  he  had  given  to  me. 

"Catherine  is  my  cousin.  We  are  friends 
from  youth.  A  shrewder  bargainer  and  a  less 


We  Seek  a  Wider  Life  65 

intelligent  human  being  never  lived.  Poor 
Hastings." 

"But,"  I  said,  "She  seems  such  a  remark 
able  help  to  him.  She  has  such  a  knowledge 
of  affairs." 

"She  has  not  even  the  wit  to  repeat  to  him 
what  she  has  heard  him  say.  Most  women 
know  as  much  as  that." 

"But — ?"  I  stammered  over  my  next  ques 
tion. 

.  "But  why  does  he  still  attach  himself? 
Because  he  would  be  cut  if  he  did  not. 
Because  he  wants  to  continue  in  office.  He 
would  not  be  forgiven  if  he  dropped  away. 
In  this  world  a  man  must  be  true  to  some 
thing."  He  hesitated  a  moment  and  the  smile 
faded.  "They  allow  more  latitude  to  a 
woman.  Hastings  is  paying  a  debt  of  honor 
contracted  twenty  years  ago  and  he  must  pay  it 
until  the  Duke  of  Belcourt  is  dead.  Then  he 
will  be  free." 

I  suppose  my  eyes  were  puzzled. 

"Then  he  may  marry  her  and  go  his  own 
way. ' ' 

In  that  winter  I  used  to  walk  as  high  up  on 
the  mountains  as  I  dared  to  go.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  I  could  not  breathe  as  long  as  there  was 


66  The  Highroad 

anything  above  me.  I  must  climb  even  into 
dangerous  places.  It  was  with  delight  that  I 
realized  my  own  sure-footedness,  my  coolness 
of  head. 

The  following  summer  Prolmann  told  me 
that  he  was  growing  old  (as  a  matter  of  fact  he 
was  younger  in  every  way  than  when  I  had  first 
known  him),  and  that  his  physician  had  ordered 
him  to  take  a  long  yachting  trip  to  Norway  and 
the  Hebrides.  He  asked  that,  in  the  capacity 
of  his  god-daughter,  I  would  come  with  him. 
Robert  would  go  for  a  tour  with  the  secretary, 
and  I,  with  a  new  maid  (my  old  one  was  sub 
ject  to  seasickness),  went.  This  plan  was  car 
ried  out  for  another  summer,  and  then — I  found 
myself  a  little  bored. 

Prolmann  had  taught  me  much  which  I  de 
sired  to  use.  What  was  the  need  of  longer 
spending  my  days  in  idle  dreaming  and  in  as 
idle  practicing  upon  my  teacher?  And — I  was 
a  little  bored.  I  exulted  in  the  feeling  when  I 
discovered  it  in  myself.  This  wonderful,  bril 
liant  man  of  the  world  had  brought  me  to  the 
stage  where  he  could  teach  me  nothing  more, 
and  he  bored  me. 

One  day  near  the  end  of  our  second  summer, 
he  told  me  that  he  was  negotiating  with  his 


We  Seek  a  Wider  Life  67 

wife's  people  for  a  divorce.  I  thought  rapidly. 
Undoubtedly  a  marriage  with  Prolmann  would 
give  me  a  large  fortune,  but — was  it  worth 
while?  Would  I  not  be  considered  somewhat 
in  the  light  of  an  adventuress? 

An  unknown  woman  is  always  considered  to 
have  been  an  adventuress  when  she  marries  a 
conspicuous  man.  And  while  Prolmann  had 
discarded  his  title  and  was  living  in  retire 
ment,  any  act  of  his,  such  as  a  marriage  fol 
lowing  a  divorce,  would  bring  up  his  whole 
history — and  mine.  And — he  bored  me. 

I  told  him  that  to  me  divorce  seems  the 
violation  of  a  sacrament,  and  I  begged  him  for 
the  sake  of  his  soul  to  reconsider  the  matter. 

The  next  remark  he  made  was  wide  of  the 
subject,  and  that  autumn  I  went  to  Paris  to  be 
near  the  girls  and  prepare  the  way  for  Lucile's 
debut  into  the  world.  He  gave  me  many  let 
ters  and  the  arrangement  at  the  convent  went 
on  as  before.  We  carried  on  a  correspondence 
of  a  semi-formal  character  with  long  lapses. 

I  was  foolish  to  let  Prolmann  get  away  from 
me  then.  His  arm  would  have  saved  me  much 
in  the  succeeding  years,  but  it  was  the  first  time 
I  had  ever  been  truly  bored  and  I  was  fasci 
nated  by  the  experience  and  inclined  to  in- 


68  'The  Highroad 

dulge  it.  I  had  practically  saved  two  years' 
income  also,  and  my  "god-father"  had  pre 
sented  me  with  some  magnificent  jewels. 

He  showed  his  spirit  by  sending  each  of  the 
elder  girls  a  pearl  necklace  on  her  marriage — 
and  keepi'ng  an  eye  on  Robert's  early  educa 
tion. 


In  Paris  69 


VI 


In  Paris 

My  first  idea  in  going  to  Paris  was  to  stay  a 
while  in  the  convent  where  my  girls  were.  But 
I  thought  better  of  that.  I  did  not  want  the 
nuns  to  be  too  explicit  concerning  the  cost  of 
their  charges.  They  were  paid  through  my 
bankers  in  Paris,  and — I  had  nothing  to  do 
with  it. 

I  could  not  go  to  a  pension.  I  had  learned 
by  this  time  how  it  marked  a  woman,  gave 
her  undesirable  acquaintances,  and  was  alto 
gether  the  wrong  road  to  the  goal  I  had  set  out 
to  reach.  I  lived  at  a  quiet  little  hotel  with 
my  maid  for  a  week,  and  then  set  about  reap 
ing  the  harvest  of  the  letters  Prolmann  had 
given  me.  I  had  no  scruples  whatever  in 
opening  them,  but  they  told  me  nothing. 
They  were  of  the  most  formal  description. 
But  my  first  visitor  gave  me  a  clue  to  what 
Prolmann  had  sent  out  privately. 

She  was  a  Viennese,  an  old  woman  with  a 
sad  face,  more  like  an  old  hound's  than  any- 


7o  'The  Highroad 

thing  else  I  can  think  of.  The  old-fashioned 
way  in  which  she  wore  her  hair  carried  out  the 
idea.  The  mouse-colored  wings  on  her  cheeks 
were  like  a  hound's  ears.  But  in  the  lobes  of 
her  ears  were  beautiful  rubies  of  enormous 
value,  and  on  the  delicate  old  hands,  encased  in 
lace  mitts,  were  stones  in  dim,  worn,  deep  set 
tings  that  made  the  flashy  shallow  diamonds 
we  see  nowadays  seem  like  vulgar  paste.  Her 
gown  was  made  with  an  overskirt  and  her  bon 
net  had  wide  strings. 

She  rose  and  bowed  stiffly  when  I  entered, 
and  said  in  beautiful  French: 

"It  gives  me  pleasure  to  welcome  the 
daughter  of  my  cousin's  old  friend  to  Paris." 

For  an  instant  I  was  bewildered,  and  later  I 
was  confused  as  I  realized  that  the  old  brown 
eyes  that  looked  out  so  pathetically  had  seen 
my  hesitation.  The  "cousin"  was  Prolmann 
and  he  had  claimed  me  as  the  daughter  of  an 
old  friend.  He  was  a  man  of  spirit. 

"I,  too,  am  suffering  from  an  unproductive 
estate,"  she  said. 

I  flushed.  It  seemed  to  me  that  Prolmann 
need  not  have  flaunted  my  poverty  all  at  once. 
But  I  have  learned  since  then  that  the  great  of 
the  world  hasten  to  speak  of  their  limitation  of 


In  Paris  71 

fortune  that  nothing  may  be  expected  of  them 
which  they  cannot  perform. 

In  a  moment  I  was  matching  fortunes  with 
this  old  lady,  telling  her  of  the  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  acres  which  were  "tied  up"  until 
my  children  were  all  of  age.  Actually  as  the 
years  went  by  I  came  to  believe  in  these  acres 
as  a  fortune.  Who  knows?  It  may  be  true 
that  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  but  what  we 
ourselves  create,  that  everything  is  in  our  own 
minds.  We  all,  who  think,  have  had  expe 
riences  which  would  seem  to  corroborate  such 
a  theory. 

Madame  Vestrine  was  a  distant  cousin  of 
Prolmann.  A  Hungarian  by  birth,  who  had 
passed  a  brilliant  youth  at  many  courts  with 
her  father,  a  famous  diplomatist.  She  had 
married  against  her  father's  will,  making  a 
marriage,  which  she  told  me  with  entire  sim 
plicity  had  been  most  disastrous.  She  had 
one  child,  a  son,  who  was  content  to  let  the 
world  slip  by  while  he  lived  on  his  Hungarian 
estates,  forever  out  of  the  world.  I  gathered 
from  Madame  that  she  considered  him  also  in 
the  light  of  a  disaster.  She  hoped  that  my  son 
would  not  so  disappoint  me. 

I  had  left  Robert  in  Lausanne  to  be  prepared 


72  The  Highroad 

for  college.  It  was  Prolmann's  advice  that  he 
should  go  back  to  America  to  college.  A  man 
should  be  educated  in  his  own  country,  he  said. 
In  no  other  way  could  he  understand  his  people. 

Madame  Vestrine  invited  me  to  her  house, 
or  rather  her  apartment  in  the  Rue  Miromesnil, 
the  following  Thursday,  when  she  would  have 
some  of  her  old  friends  between  the  hours  of 
four  and  six. 

I'went,  and  here  it  maybe  interesting  to  tell 
of  the  manage  of  this  old  aristocrat,  whose  birth 
gave  her  access  to  the  Vienna  court  circle,  and 
who,  I  learned  later,  had  been  one  of  the  great 
ladies  who  had  snubbed  the  young  Empress 
and  added  so  much  to  the  misery  of  her  un 
happy  life.  One  could  not  understand  so  sim 
ple  and  kind  a  creature  hurting  any  one — at 
first.  Later  I  came  to  see  that  presumption 
was  the  one  thing  which  found  her  inflexible. 
It  was  always  more  or  less  a  source  of  amuse 
ment  to  me  that  she  did  not  always  recognize 
it.  She  knew  the  ways  of  her  caste,  as  all  true 
aristocrats,  but  what  she  did  not  know  were  the 
ways  of  the  casteless. 

Sooner  or  later  some  queer  people  found 
their  way  into  her  little  salon,  and  it  was  I  who 
weeded  them  out. 


In  Paris  73 

This  first  afternoon,  I  was  a  trifle  early,  and 
1  discovered  Madame  talking  to  a  curious  pop- 
eyed  Belgian,  who  was  quite  frankly  relating 
an  anecdote  concerning  the  supposed  claimant 
of  the  Bonapartist  party.  It  was  not  a  pleasant 
anecdote. 

"The  worst  of  it  was,"  the  Belgian  said,  "it 
took  place  before  his  innocent  children.  The 
man  is  impossible." 

And  then  I  made  one  of  my  early  blunders. 

"His  children?"  I  asked,  as  innocently  as 
one  of  them.  "I  did  not  know  that  the  Prince 
was  married?" 

"Nor  is  he,"  was  the  reply.  "Not  even 
morganatically,  I  believe.  He  has  put  his 
children  in  a  very  unpleasant  position  and 
there  was  no  necessity  for  it.  It  is  impossible 
to  vitiate  the  blood  of  the  Bonapartes." 

This  gentleman's  card  was  on  a  table  near 
me  and  I  saw  it  then  and  many  times  later. 
His  name  was  followed  by  the  Roman  numbers 
IV.  They  puzzled  me  then,  but  later  I  learned 
that  an  ancestor  of  his  had  been  a  friend  of 
Henry  IV.  of  France.  The  reason  of  the 
friendship  would  have  supplied  Mr.  Stanley 
Weyman's  readers  with  a  long  novel,  had  he 
ever  had  as  free  access  to  it  as  he  had  to 


74  The  Highroad 


Sully's  diary,  out  of  which  his  best  tales  are 
made.  It  was  a  gay  mixture  of  intrigue,  com 
edy,  farce  and  tragedy.  It  smelled  of  blood 
and  musk  and  garlic  after  the  fashion  of  all 
intimate  things  of  Navarre.  When  it  was  over 
and  I  suppose  the  lady  was  done  with  and 
safely  out  of  the  way  (married  to  the  friend  after 
the  fashion  of  the  day,  for  aught  I  know), 
Henry  in  his  love  and  gratitude  gave  part  of 
his  name  to  the  friend,  and  his  children  wear  it 
to  this  day. 

I  could  but  think  how  surprised  Henry  would 
be  to  see  that  the  strain  hadn't  lasted  better. 
But  then  —  there  are  the  Bourbons! 

The  apartment  of  Madame  Vestrine  might 
have  been  a  little  corner  of  one  of  the  new 
apartment  houses  in  New  York,  except  that 
the  conveniences  were  lacking.  It  consisted 
of  a  tiny  salon,  two  bed-rooms,  and  in  the 
place  where  a  bath  would  be  in  New  York  was 
a  tiny  kitchen.  The  antiquated  maid  slept  in 
the  kitchen. 

The  walls  of  the  salon  were  covered  by 
splendid  tapestry  woven  in  the  Louvre  before 
the  days  of  the  Gobelins.  Gold  threads  as 
brilliant  as  if  of  to-day  enriched  the  soft, 
old  colors.  Lace  fit  for  a  museum  draped  the 


In  Paris  75 

mantle,  on  which  stood  alone  an  alabaster 
bust  of  Marie  Antoinette,  given  as  a  souvenir 
to  Madame  Vestrine's  great-grandmother,  who 
had  been  the  Queen's  maid  of  honor  before  her 
marriage  to  Louis. 

On  top  of  a  writing-desk  painted  by  some 
romanticist  in  garlands  and  fetes  and  varnished 
by  the  Martins,  stood  an  old  miniature,  waxy, 
yellow,  faded,  of  a  young  woman,  that  I  knew 
must  have  been  Madame  in  her  youth. 

In  half  an  hour  the  place  was  crowded  to 
suffocation  and  we  were  given  some  dry  sweet 
cakes  and  a  glass  of  wine. 

There  were  few  young  people.  Here  and 
there  was  a  young  girl  with  her  mother,  but 
these  did  not  stay  long.  They  were  chiefly  the 
old-fashioned  sort  of  young  French  girls.  One 
I  recognized  as  a  girl  I  had  seen  at  the  convent, 
and  I  ventured  to  speak  to  her.  She  scarcely 
lifted  her  eyes  from  the  floor  and  said  only 
"Out,"  and  "Non." 

Her  mother  gave  me  a  half-suspicious  glance 
and  before  my  face  walked  the  two  or  three 
steps  to  Madame  Vestrine  and  asked  her  quite 
audibly  who  I  was.  I  heard  Prolmann's  name, 
and  the  Marquise  (I  discovered  she  was  that) 
came  back  and  greeted  me  very  affably. 


76  The  Highroad 

"Do  you  know  Madame — 's  daughter?" 

she  asked  her  child. 

The  girl  gave  her  a  quick  upward  look  from 
her  black  eyes,  and  then  satisfied  of  the  correct 
answer,  said: 

"Unpeu,  Maman." 

When  I  asked  Lucile  concerning  this  girl, 
she  said  carelessly,  "Oh,  Lili!  She  is  Gene- 
vieve's  friend.  They  are  inseparable  and  they 
plan  all  the  mischief  in  the  convent.  She  is  a 
petit  (liable,  that  Lili!  I  tried  to  keep  her  away 
from  Genevieve,  but  there  is  no  parting  them." 

Lucile,  I  was  beginning  to  see,  had  some  of 
the  elements  of  a  prig.  That  makes  a  girl  easy 
to  manage  in  some  ways,  but  difficult  in  others, 
and  it  is  nearly  always  accompanied  by  a  bit 
ter  obstinacy. 

"She  has  a  beautiful  mother,"  I  said. 

I  repeated  the  story  of  the  beauty  of  the 
Marquise  to  Genevieve,  sure  that  it  would 
reach  the  ears  of  her  friend  and  certain  also 
that  Lili  would  place  the  remark  in  her  turn 
where  it  would  do  the  most  good.  The  Mar 
quise's  beauty  had  reached  that  stage  where 
she  would  like  to  have  it  corroborated. 

You  can  buy  almost  anything  in  Paris,  and 
when  I  went  about  furnishing  my  own  apart- 


In  Paris  77 

ment    I  used  a  hint  that   Madame  Vestrine's 
room  had  given  me. 

I  could  not  afford  to  have  so  tiny  a  place. 
I  was  not  great  enough  to  suffocate  people, 
nor  could  I  hang  priceless  tapestries  and  lace 
on  the  walls.  I  found  an  apartment  in  the 
rue  Marbeuf,  and  was  about  to  take  it  when  I 
discovered  that  I  had  alighted  in  the  midst  of 
the  American  Colony.  I  fled  as  from  a  pesti 
lence.  At  last,  Madame  Vestrine  came  to  my 
rescue  and  established  me  on  the  second  floor 
of  a  walled  house  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain. 
There  were  four  rooms  besides  the  kitchen  and 
a  hole  under  the  roof  for  my  servant. 

There  was  a  little  graveled  court  where  a  car 
riage  could  drive  in,  and  altogether  it  was 
gloomy  and  correct.  I  was  obliged  to  take  a 
lease  for  two  years,  and  then  I  was  allowed  to 
put  in  a  bath-room  (at  a  ridiculous  expense) 
on  the  condition  that  when  I  left  I  was  to  tear 
out  all  the  pipes  and  leave  the  walls  as  I  found 
them. 

Madame  Vestrine  tried  to  persuade  me  to 
give  up  the  mad  project  of  a  bath.  She  ex 
plained  to  me  that  the  weekly  bath  could  be 
brought  in  from  the  street  (linen,  soap  and  all) 
foi  three  francs  fifty.  But  I  explained  that  I 


7 8  ^he  Highroad 

wanted  my  daughter  to  preserve  her  complex 
ion  and  the  doctor  had  said  daily  baths 
would  do  it.  She  bowed  to  that. 

"I  have  heard,"  she  said  in  her  tired,  meek 
way,  "that  some  of  the  Americans  and  the 
actresses  use  baths  of  milk.  Certainly  it  pays 
to  keep  the  complexion." 

I  made  up  my  mind  that  as  I  could  not  fur 
nish  my  rooms  magnificently,  I  would  do  the 
next  best  thing  and  furnish  "temporarily" — 
never  forgetting  that  I  was  an  American — of 
the  colonial  school. 

I  went  to  chintz  and  comfortable  chairs  and 
soft  rugs  for  my  foundation.  I  have  discov 
ered  that  Frenchmen  like  comfort  as  well  as 
anybody.  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  it  is 
for  this  reason  that  they  so  often  seek  the 
society  of  the  half-world — tired  of  formal 
chairs  at  home. 

Then,  in  the  old  shops,  and  later  at  Hotel 
Druot,  I  bought  anything  that  antedated  1865, 
candlesticks,  some  pictures,  china,  a  minia 
ture  or  two — all  English.  I  even  purchased  a 
number  of  old  English  books.  These  were 
my  treasures  which  were  supposed  to  have  fol 
lowed  me  from  America.  I  even  allowed 
Lucile  to  think  so. 


In  Paris  79 

My  mother  died  the  last  year  I  was  in  Lau 
sanne,  and  my  father  wrote  me  a  letter  and 
sent  me  a  crayon  portrait  he  had  had  "en 
larged"  from  an  old  photograph.  It  was  a 
dreadful  thing,  but  it  could  not  quite  destroy 
my  mother's  maiden  prettiness  and  gentleness 
of  expression. 

I  took  the  paper  out  of  the  hideous  plaster 
and  gilt  frame  in  which  it  arrived  and  I  care 
fully  wiped  out  all  of  the  drawing  except  the 
face,  and  that  I  smirched.  Then  I  took  it  to  a 
clever  young  artist  in  Paris,  and  told  him  that 
my  only  portrait  of  my  mother  had  been  de 
stroyed.  I  asked  him  to  paint  a  portrait  from 
this  remnant.  I  brought  to  him  an  old-fash 
ioned  silk  gown,  a  lace  fichu  smelling  of  rose 
leaves,  and  a  tiny  satin  shoe,  all  of  which  I 
purchased  in  a  shop  on  the  hill  leading  up  to 
Montmartre.  I  told  him  that  these  were 
hers,  "showing  the  delicate  character  of  my 
mother,  which  I  knew  that  his  art  could  repro 
duce." 

He  created  a  lovely  creature  sitting  meekly 
behind  the  frame,  which  made  Lucile  start  and 
cry  out  when  she  saw  it:  "Grandmamma!" 

I  told  her  that  her  grandfather  had  sent  me 
the  picture.  She  looked  at  it  a  Long  time,  and 


8o  The  Highroad 

-  * 

then  turned  to  me  with  something  almost 
pathetic  in  her  face  and  voice. 

"I  am  so  glad  he  did.  I  never  understood 
before — I  think  I  must  have  dreamed  things." 

I  never  asked  what  she  had  dreamed.  I 
knew  that  she  could  remember  the  simple 
country  life  of  my  parents.  I  had  glorified  it 
for  her  by  showing  her  this  vision  of  her  grand 
mother's  youth  which  was  not  the  less  true  to 
her  that  it  was  altogether  false  to  fact. 


I  Bring  Lucile  into  View  81 


VII 


/  Bring  Lucile  into  View 

Lucile  was  at  this  time  eighteen  years  old, 
and,  if  the  truth  be  told,  a  perfectly  common 
place  girl.  Her  only  gleam  of  beauty  was  in 
the  red  shade  her  hair  had  caught  from  her 
father's,  but  that  was  not  a  real  point.  Her 
features  were  small,  her  teeth  fairly  good,  her 
figure  was  acceptable.  Had  she  been  left  in  our 
native  land — and  town — she  would  have  been 
conservatively  happy  with  never  a  longing. 
She  would  have  belonged  to  a  literary  club 
where  the  members  sewed  on  commonplace 
"art  work,"  while  one  of  them  read  good  litera 
ture — something  "solid," — and  watched  the 
clock  for  tea  time. 

I  went  to  a  meeting  of  one  of  those  clubs  in 
Fowlersburg  not  long  after  Lucile's  marriage. 
I  was  being  entertained  with  some  awe,  which 
I  could  see  was  not  a  little  mixed  with  wonder. 
They  all  looked  hard  at  me  as  if  to  discover 
my  "trick,"  and  I  think  they  were  disappointed 
that  I  did  not  talk  about  Lucile  and  her  hus- 


82  'The  Highroad 

band.  They  all  remembered  (to  me)  what  a 
beautiful,  interesting  child  she  had  been,  and 
some  of  them,  hoped  to  see  her  if  they  ever 
went  to  London  or  Ludovika,  where  her  hus 
band  resides  as  Ambassador.  I  hoped  they 
might,  but  I  doubted  it.  Lucile  is  not  demo 
cratic.  The  wife  of  the  new  clergyman  of 
Fowlersburg  was  president  of  the  club.  She 
was  a  large  woman,  reconciled  to  her  figure 
because  it  resembled  that  of  the  late  Queen 
Victoria.  She  came  from  eastern  Virginia, 
the  offspring  of  an  English  tobacco  merchant 
of  before  the  war  and  a  Richmond  woman. 
On  the  English  side  she  was  more  than  cordial 
to  me  as  the  mother-in-law  of  one  of  England's 
famous  men — and  a  Lord.  On  the  Richmond 
side  she  was  a  little  resentful  that  any  Fowlers- 
burg  woman  from  the  looked-down-upon  West 
Virginia  should  have  achieved  such  glory. 

But  she  could  and  she  did  assert  her  English 
parentage.  She  finally  said  that  a  monarchy 
was  the  only  proper  form  of  government.  As 
nobody  else  seemed  likely  to  deny  this  asser 
tion,  and  as  I  myself  thank  the  Fates  hourly 
that  I  was  born  in  a  republic  where  I  would 
alone  have  been  a  possibility,  I  asked  her, 

"Why?" 


I  Bring  Lucile  into  View  83 

"Because,"  answered  she,  "Heaven  is  a 
monarchy." 

Now  that  is  exactly  the  kind  of  logic 
which  would  have  appealed  to  Lucile.  I 
wanted  to  tell  those  good  souls  how  she  would 
have  enjoyed  herself  with  them,  but  I  feared 
they  would  consider  that  I  was  boasting  of  her 
intellectuality,  and  I  wished  to  leave  no  cor 
ners  for  comment  to  hang  upon. 

Lucile's  feet  and  hands,  her  neck  and  waist 
were  what  the  shops  call  "stock  sizes,"  as  well 
as  her  mind  and  manners. 

Many  mothers  would  have  considered  her 
hopeless — but  I  knew  better.  The  majority  of 
the  world  is  itself  commonplace  and  resentful 
of  anything  out  of  the  ordinary. 

Nobody  knows  how  I  dreaded  the  coming  of 
Lucile,  because  I  knew  that  she  would  bore 
me.  I  had  grown  accustomed  in  these  years 
to  my  own  society.  I  made  plans  and  dreamed 
dreams  all  day  long,  dreams  and  plans  for  my 
children,  but  they  were  like  counters  to  me. 

I  suppose  at  heart  I  am  an  extremely  selfish 
woman.  I  want  everybody  around  me  to  be 
contented,  gratified  in  every  sense,  from  appe 
tite  to  vanity  (vanity  is  the  unnamed  sense), 
but  I  am  conscious  that  it  is  because  unhappi- 


84  The  Highroad 

ness  jars  and  disturbs  me.  It  is  my  instinct  to 
make  people  near  me  happy  as  it  is  my  instinct 
to  keep  my  house  clean.  It  is  more  comfort 
able.  I  wonder  how  many  people  are  like  me, 
and  if  they  were  to  speak  the  truth  would  say 
that  a  million  Chinese  might  be  tortured 
without  causing  them  a  moment's  pain,  so  the 
sufferers  were  welh  out  of  sight  and  hearing? 

When  the  convent  gate  opened,  I  took  up 
my  Stendhal,  my  Gautier,  my  Maupassant  and 
their  companions  and  locked  them  away. 
That  was  before  I  knew  that  Lucile  would 
never  have  read  them  in  any  case.  Her  favor 
ite  author  was  Mrs.  Humphry  Ward,  after  she 
began  to  read  at  all,  which  was  not  until  she 
was  safely  married.  Before  that  she  looked  at 
the  pictures  in  the  English  and  American  peri 
odicals.  She  had  a  natural  taste  for  The  Ladies' 
Pictorial  and  The  Century. 

I  had  a  pretty  salon  by  the  time  she  came  to 
me,  with  an  open  fire,  many  shaded  candles 
and  plenty  of  fresh  flowers.  We  had  a  dress 
ing  maid  in  common,  who  slept  out  of  the 
house.  This  woman  was  rather  high  priced, 
but  she  was  most  useful.  She  could  do  any 
thing  from  trimming  a  hat  to  making  a  plau 
sible  excuse,  and  her  manner  toward  Lucile  was 


•  I  Bring  Lucile  into  View  85 

that  of  an  old  servant  to  a  young  princess. 
She  gave  an  air  to  her  charge. 

I  hesitated  a  long  time  about  the  gowning  of 
Lucile.  (I  wonder  if  these  details  are  tedious. 
I  know  they  would  not  have  been  to  me  in  the 
days  when  I  was  seeking  information.  I  am 
trying  to  make  this  book  as  practical  as  a  cook 
book.) 

This  was  all  gone  over  and  arranged  before 
she  left  the  convent.  For  myself,  I  adore  the 
garments  of  Paquin  and  Walles  and  Callot,  but 
I  have  seldom  had  one.  They  are  a  little  en 
Evidence.  I  know  that  American  girls  gowned 
by  these  people  have  achieved  coronets,  but 
they  were  rich  girls,  not  poor  girls  whose 
mothers  were  feeling  their  way. 

I  never  saw  a  well-bred  French  girl  in  one  of 
those  beautiful  toilets,  I  might  say  if  I  were 
"making  up,"  but  the  fact  is  I  have  seen  well- 
bred  French  girls  in  all  sorts  of  horrors.  They 
were  never  models  for  my  original  spirit.  I 
made  up  my  mind  that  Lucile  should  be  a 
"type,"  and  I  chose  that  of  1830.  It  was  I 
who  made  that  radical  change  in  the  fashions 
which  came  about  when  the  designs  became 
known  because  Lucile  was  wearing  them. 

Of  course    there  was  no   "coming  out"    or 


86  The  Highroad 

anything  of  that  sort.  I  had  made  a  few 
friends,  for  Prolmann's  letters  had  given 
people  to  understand  that  I  was  one  of  them, 
and  they  speedily  discovered  that  I  was  not 
like  the  usual  American  in  Paris.  Lili's 
mother  had  become  almost  an  intimate,  and 
she  took  me  under  her  wing  and  allowed  me 
to  share  some  of  her  expenses,  although  she 
was  a  rich  woman.  Had  I  been  childless,  I 
think  that  I  myself  might  have  had  something 
of  a  career  at  this  time.  Once  I  was  tempted 
to  leave  Lucile  in  the  convent  another  year, 
but  I  thoroughly  comprehend  the  folly  of  that. 
She  must  come  out  young  and  fresh,  before 
time  and  convent  habits  had  made  her  into  an 
old  child.  And  then,  to  be  truly  successful  in 
my  role  'of  mother,  it  must  be  the  only  one  in 
which  I  was  known. 

I  succeeded  in  a  little  while  in  making  Ma 
dame  Vestrine'  our  every-day  companion,  as  I 
am  sure  Prolmann  intended.  It  was  cheaper 
for  her  to  dine  with  us  than  at  home,  and  still 
more  amusing  for  her  to  have  us  included  in 
invitations  where  we  supplied  the  carriage. 
And  here,  riding  as  I  believed  upon  the  wave 
of  social  success,  I  made  the  first  of  my  serious 
blunders, 


I  Feel  My  Way  87 


VIII 

/  Feel  My  Way 

The  set  in  which  the  Marquise  de  Malpierre 
(Lili's  mother)  disported  herself  was  a  gay  one. 

I  have  heard  Americans  speak  of  exclusive 
French  society  as  "stupid,"  "formal."  Noth 
ing  could  be  farther  from  the  truth,  except  the 
middle  class  English  belief  that  all  French 
great  ladies  have  lovers. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  there  are  very  few  lovers 
in  the  world.  The  connections  between  men 
and  women  are  generally  those  of  mutual 
interest  of  one  sort  and  another.  "Love"  as 
the  world  knows  it,  is  confined  to  the  awaken 
ing  to  maturity  in  children  and  to  some  circum 
stances  or  temperaments  which  are  a  little 
abnormal.  Habit  can  so  delicately  replace 
love  that  nobody  discovers  the  difference  until 
some  crisis  comes.  These  French  women  have 
men  friends  to  whom  they  talk  freely  and  from 
whom  they  hear  much,  but  they  give  them 
nothing  but  talk.  They  are  the  finished  flowers 
of  modernity, — they  understand  their  own  tem 
peraments  and  they  understand  the  men  about 


88  The  Highroad 

them.  And  they  have  a  lucid  mother  tongue 
in  which  they  can  tell  them  so  without  offense. 

After  the  weather  became  warm  and  all 
Paris  went  away  to  the  country,  I  longed  for 
my  little  house  at  Lausanne. 

At  this  opportune  moment  came  an  invita 
tion  from  the  Marquise  for  me  to  spend  some 
time  with  her  at  Varriere,  her  chateau  in  Nor 
mandy.  She  expressly  asked  that  Genevieve 
should  come  also  as  Lili  was  heart-broken  at 
leaving  her.  I  hardly  knew  what  to  do. 
There  were  Robert  and  Jane  to  consider. 

I  wrote  to  Prolmann  and  asked  if  the  little 
house  in  Lausanne  could  be  rented  for  the 
summer. 

The  answer  was  so  long  in  coming  that  I  had 
an  unpleasant  feeling  that  I  had  received  my 
just  deserts,  but  it  finally  reached  me,  post 
marked  Vienna.  It  was  the  letter  of  a  sick  old 
man.  He  told  me  that  his  own  villa  was 
empty,  he  should  nev«r  return  to  it,  and  he 
offered  it  to  me  for  as  long  as  I  chose.  The 
housekeeper  was  there  as  caretaker. 

I  made  a  flying  trip  to  Lausanne  and  in 
stalled  Madame  Vestrine  with  the  two  younger 
children  and  Genevieve.  Then  I  begged  the 
Marquise  to  allow  Lili  to  join  them  there. 


I  Feel  My  Way  89 

Madame  Vestrine  would  have  some  visits  to 
make,  but  she  was  very  glad  of  the  villa. 

I  discovered  a  governess  for  the  children,  a 
woman  well  recommended,  as  I  believed  that 
Madame  Vestrine  would  regard  the  children 
simply  as  drawbacks  to  her  enjoyment.  In 
that  I  was  mistaken.  She  had  grown  old 
enough  to  enjoy  their  society.  Robert  became 
her  darling,  and  I  consider  much  of  his  success 
in  life  due  to  her  influence.  Having  seen  the 
necessity  of  making  a  boy  properly  worldly  in 
his  youth,  she  impressed  upon  him,  as  she  had 
neglected  to  impress  upon  her  son,  the  value 
of  living  in  the  world. 

The  Marquise  and  her  mother  welcomed 
Lili's  departure.  A  grown  girl  who  is  not 
entirely  ready  for  society  and  marriage  is  an 
anomalous  thing. 

The  house  party  at  Varriere  was  made  up  of 
relatives  and  friends  of  the  family,  of  whom 
the  most  important  to  me  was  Comte  Julien 
Malpierre,  the  brother-in-law  of  my  hostess. 

During  the  winter  I  had  decided  that  this 
was  the  son-in-law  that  I  coveted. 

The  husband  of  the  Marquise  was  a  heavy, 
handsome  man,  who  ate  a  great  deal,  talked  a 
little,  and  spent  most  of  his  time  on  board  a 


9O  'The  Highroad 

yacht,  where  his  companion  was  said  to  be  a 
very  plain  intellectual  French  woman,  the 
daughter  of  the  physician  in  the  village  near 
Varriere.  The  connection  had  lasted  for 
twelve  years  and  nobody  paid  the  slightest 
attention  to  it.  When  anybody  in  the  chateau 
had  a  slight  ailment,  the  doctor  was  called  in 
and  was  treated  with  respect.  The  Marquise 
seemed  to  be  unaware  that  he  had  a  daughter. 

The  men  of  the  Malpierre  family  were  con 
tradictions  of  the  preconceived  Frenchmen, 
being  pure  types  of  the  blonde  Franks  who 
conquered  the  Gauls.  They  were  tall,  broad- 
shouldered  and  full  of  vitality.  They  delighted 
in  all  sorts  of  sport,  and  were  like  handsome 
Englishmen  with  the  addition  of  ideal  man 
ners.  The  Marquis  talked  with  a  deep  rumble 
in  his  voice  which  reminded  me  of  the  bumble 
bees  swinging  home  over  the  red  clover  in 
these  fields. 

The  Marquise's  mother,  a  faded  old  doll 
over-dressed,  adored  him.  He  seemed  to  be  a 
general  favorite  and  there  was  mourning  when 
he  and  his  companion  went  off  to  the  North 
Sea. 

His  going  left  Julien  as  master  of  the  house. 
I  used  to  look  at  him  and  think  that  I  could  be 


I  Feel  My  Way  91 

as  silly  over  him  as  the  Marquise's  mother  over 
his  brother. 

Everything  seemed  to  be  going  the  way  I 
desired  it  should.  The  Count  treated  me 
with  a  deference  which  caused  the  other 
guests  to  realize  the  situation  was  as  I  would 
have  it,  even  before  I  became  aware  that  my 
hopes  were  not  in  vain. 

Lucile  was  a  lovely  product  of  my  artistic 
eye  and  the  Paris  dressmakers — and  her  own 
adaptability  to  the  conditions  surrounding  her. 
Any  young  thing  cared  for  and  at  ease  is 
pretty.  We  had  accented  the  red  in  her  hair 
by  a  wash  which  left  it  transparent,  and  every 
night  Emelie,  our  maid,  spent  an  hour  over 
her  complexion.  My  jewel  wasn't  of  the  first 
water,  but  it  made  a  brave  showing  in  my 
hands. 

The  gaieties  consisted  of  coaching  (automo- 
biling  was  not  yet  in  fashion),  yachting  (before 
the  Marquis  departed),  dancing  and  theatricals. 
There  were  several  other  chateaux  near  by,  and 
when  our  large  party  was  not  making  an  occa 
sion,  the  others  were. 

The  young  French  girl  who  is  conspicuous 
and  is  not  yet  married,  what  somebody  has 
called  the  " ' demi-vierge ,"  was  just  coming  into 


92  'The  Highroad 

vogue  then,  and  there  was  more  than  one 
about.  But  Frenchmen  are  not  interested  in 
her  as  a  possible  wife  unless  she  is  an  heiress — 
even  now.  Lili  was  destined  to  be  one  of  these 
a  little  later:  the  sort  of  French  girl  who  has 
plenty  to  talk  about,  and  who  goes  in  for 
everything.  But  Lucile,  even  with  her  Ameri 
can  blood,  had  none  of  this.  She  had  proved  to 
me  that  she  was  no  fool,  however,  and  that  she 
had  a  good  serviceable  working  mind.  My 
grandfather  used  to  talk  a  good  deal  about 
horse  sense,  and  Lucile  has  it.  Her  practical 
turn  has  always  been  fairly  well  hidden,  but  it 
is  the  framework  on  which  her  whole  life  is 
built.  And  where  is  there  a  safer? 

A  good  many  people  were  constantly  coming 
and  going  at  the  chateau,  and  we  had  a  succes 
sion  of  visits. 

Among     others,    came     the    Due    and   the 

Duchesse  de  B .     The  Duchess  I  had  long 

wanted  to  meet,  for  she,  too,  was  the  product 
of  audacity.  I  had  thought  that  we  might  be 
friends.  I  saw  later  what  a  mistake  that  would 
have  been.  Each  of  us  needed  to  be  rock 
bound,  to  be  bolstered  by  the  solidest  pillars  of 
society.  We  could  only  injure  each  other. 
But  I  was  learning  then. 


I  Feel  My  Way  93 

The  B 's  had  a  chateau  about  fifteen  miles 

away,  where  they  were  said  by  the  American 
journals  to  live  like  two  turtle  doves.  Little 
as  I  even  then  believed  the  American  journals, 
I  did  believe  that.  The  Duke  had  married  the 
Duchess  practically  with  no  dot  at  all — because 
he  was  in  love  with  her,  they  said.  The  Amer 
ican  journals  had  been  in  the  habit  of  printing 
her  entire  family  history  (with  photographs) 
every  time  her  name  was  mentioned.  She  was  a 
daughter  of  a  United  States  Senator,  who  should 
have  come  from  Utah,  but  chose  another  state. 

He  had  lived  a  respectable  life  in  a  country 
village  until  he  was  the  husband  of  a  New  Eng 
land  wife,  and  the  father  of  several  children, 
when  he  suddenly  took  a  fancy  to  elope  with 
the  village  school  teacher.  Being  a  loving 
father,  he  took  one  of  the  children  along. 
That  always  seemed  to  me  a  particularly  pleas 
ing  touch. 

He  deserted  the  school  teacher  presently, 
changed  his  name  and  took  up  with  another 
lady  whose  father  (he  was  practicing  law  now) 
he  was  defending  on  a  charge  of  stealing. 

After  some  years  and  the  birth  of  the 
Duchess,  they  went  through  the  formality  of  a 
marriage,  and  lived  happily  (the  story  ran) 


94  The  Highroad 

until  he  was  nominated  for  the  United  States 
Senate.  Then  the  discarded  school  teacher 
told  the  whole  story.  And  here  comes  the 
marvel.  He  didn't  deny  it.  He  reconciled 
his  two  families.  The  western  state  cheered 
him  and  the  legislature  elected  him  as  the  re 
markable  man  he  was — but  "stuck-up"  Wash 
ington  would  have  none  of  his  daughter.  So 
she  went  to  France  and  married  into  one  of  its 
oldest  families.  How  she  did  it,  I  do  not 
know;  but  after  knowing  her  husband,  I  think 
almost  anybody  might  have  done  it. 

They  arrived  at  the  chateau  in  their  own  car 
riage  an  hour  before  dinner.  The  Duchess 
with  her  maid  went  immediately  to  her  apart 
ment  and  the  Duke  joined  us  where  we  sat 
after  the  teacups  had  been  taken  away. 

I  had  been  talking  to  Lady  Flora  Hastings, 
whom  I  knew  to  be  the  daughter  of  a  hundred 
earls,  but  found  as  uppish  and  pretentious 
as  though  her  mother  had  been  a  housemaid. 
As  I  had  no  English  friends,  and  as  Prolmann's 
influence  would  hardly  reach  so  far,  I  was  try 
ing  not  to  neglect  my  opportunities,  but  Lady 
Flora  was  giving  me  as  disagreeable  a  time  as 
possible  while  allowing  me  to  understand  that 
I  was  probably  wasting  my  time. 


I  Feel  My  Way  95 

Now  there  is  some  demon  of  tenacity  in  me 
which  makes  me  hold  on.  I  dislike  being 
snubbed.  I  am  in  reality  very  thin  skinned, 
I  cringe  from  blows,  but  I  simply  cannot 
leave  a  field  unwon.  Had  Lady  Flora  been 
fairly  decent  to  me  I  should  have  forgiven  her, 
but  she  challenged  my  powers.  Sooner  or 
later  everybody  will  show  you  their  weaknesses 
if  you  stand  and  wait,  and  after  they  have 
done  that 

When  the  Due  de  B entered  the  room 

(a  pale  thin  man  with  a  dry,  precise  manner) 
Lady  Flora  gave  a  start  as  though  she  would 
rise  to  her  feet,  and  then  with  a  flush  strug 
gling  under  her  cosmetics,  she  settled  back 
into  her  cushions  again  and  actually  began 
talking  to  me  in  an  amiable  manner. 

It  is  an  open  secret  in  England  that  the 
Duchess  of  Strood  in  "The  Gay  Lord  Quex," 
was  taken  direct  from  Lady  Flora,  so  she  may 
be  better  understood  by  those  who  have  seen 
or  read  that  brilliant  play.  Mr.  Pinero  husked 
her,  as  it  were,  just  as  Mr.  Sargent  husks  a  per 
sonality  when  he  paints  it. 

The  shell  was  beginning  to  crack  a  little  for 
me,  giving  me  a  glimpse  of  the  woman  under 
neath.  I  took  myself  out  of  the  way  and  the 


g6  The  Highroad 

Duke  and  his  old  acquaintance  had  a  little  talk 
together  quite  naturally. 

It  was  all  natural  except  that  Lady  Flora 
seemed  never  to  have  met  the  Duchesse  de 

B ,  and  even  while  they  were  inmates  of 

the  same  house  declined  the  honor  seemingly, 
for  the  Marquise  never  found  them  together. 

The  Duchesse  de  B was  almost  as  artificial 

as  Lady  Flora,  although  of  a  very  different  style. 
She  was  undeniably  pretty,  but  it  was  the  pret- 
tiness  of  Queen  Alexandra:  the  sort  the  pho 
tographer  has  no  need  to  retouch.  Her  hair, 
arranged  in  such  fashion  as  to  give  a  similitude 
of  abundance,  was  tinted  a  chestnut,  the  skin 
of  the  face  and  shoulders  was  as  carefully 
cured  as  a  choice  bit  of  superfine  leather. 
She  was  not  old,  she  was  comparatively  young, 
but  she  had  gone  into  the  business  of  preserv 
ing  herself  while  she  was  at  her  best. 

"Ah,  my  lady,"  I  said  to  myself,  "you  are 
afraid!" 

She  was  near  me  before  we  went  into  the 
great  dining-room,  and  the  Marquise  men 
tioned  our  names  to  each  other  and  said  that  we 
were  Americans. 

The  Duchess  turned  at  once  toward  me.  I 
know  that  with  her  sharp  intuitions  she  knew 


I  Feel  My  Way  97 

me  and  my  little  pretences.  Probably  with 
her  father's  means  of  discovery  she  knew  all 
about  my  "estates."  A  woman  going  about 
Europe  with  great  estates  "entangled"  would 
interest  a  countrywoman  like  the  Duchesse 
de  B . 

"You  are  a  Virginian,  I  believe,"  she  said  in 
a  voice  like  honey.  "Then  you  must  know 
Mrs.  Carey  Page." 

Evidently  the  Duchess  thought  I  was  too 
poor  an  antagonist  even  to  play  with.  Mrs. 
Carey  Page  was  the  cousin  to  everybody  in 
Virginia.  She  lived  in  Washington  half  the 
year,  where  she  chaperoned  those  girls  who 
had  old  families  and  pretty  faces.  Mrs.  Carey 
Page  knew  everybody.  I  had  learned  this 
from  the  Cincinnati  Enquirer,  which  was  sent  to 
me  by  my  father  as  a  sweet  reminder  of  home 
and  friends. 

I  was  only  to  stammer  a  bit  and  be  smiled 
at — the  Duchess  evidently  believed.  Oh,  no! 

"Mrs.  Carey  Page  is  my  dear  cousin,"  I  said 
suavely.  "Have  I  ever  met  you  at  her  home 
in  Washington?" 

"Probably,"  the  Duchess  said,  still  in  her 
honey  voice. 

And  then  we  looked  into  each  other's  eyes 


98  'The  Highroad 

with  the  deep  seriousness  of  two  cats  facing 
each  other  on  a  disputed  boundary  fence. 

We  retired  with  dignity,  and  the  Duchess 
came  my  way  no  more.  The  amusing  part 
came  after  Lucile's  marriage,  when  we  were 
in  New  York. 

Poor  old  Mrs.  Carey  Page  with  her  frumpy, 
frowsy  "Southern  Set"  heard  that  I  was  her 
cousin,  and  I  was  beset  with  letters  from  her, 
written  on  perfumed  paper  and  sealed  with  a 
crest. 

Every  now  and  then,  even  to  this  day,  a  girl 
who  sings  or  recites  begs  to  appear  in  my 
drawing-room,  and  says  that  she,  too,  is  a 
"cousin  of  Mrs.  Carey  Page." 


I  Am  Asked  for  My  Daughter's  Hand  99 


IX 


/  Am  Asked  for  My  Daughter  s  Rand 

One  afternoon  I  took  a  book  (that  looking 
glass  of  human  nature,  Rouge  et  Noir)  and  went 
into  the  old  garden  of  the  chateau.  It  was  the 
hour  when  every  one  had  retired  for  a  siesta  or 
for  the  particular  form  of  work  which  they 
carefully  concealed  from  their  friends,  be  it 
beautifying  their  persons  or  keeping  accounts. 
It  usually  goes  by  the  name  of  "writing  let 
ters." 

The  old  garden  of  the  chateau  was  one  of  the 
things  I  envied  with  all  my  heart  and  soul. 
Sometimes  the  longing  to  have  it  mine,  to  have 
grown  up  with  old  marble  satyrs  and  nymphs 
grinning  and  simpering  behind  the  bushes, 
with  old  yellow  marble  seats  on  which  my 
ancestors  had  sat  for  my  every-day  compan 
ions,  sickened  me  so  that  I  could  not  stay 
there.  Whatever  the  world  might  give  me, 
whatever  my  wits  might  acquire  for  me,  I  could 
never,  never  have  that. 

I  know  that  this  feeling  is  impossible  to  the 
healthy  and  sensible. 


zoo  tfhe  Highroad 

Probably  Mr.  William  D.  Howells  could  dis 
miss  me  in  a  clever  sentence  about  sentimental 
ists,  but  the  sickness  was  as  real  as  any  realist's 
sea-sickness. 

My  only  pleasure  was  to  sit  and  dream  of  the 
time  when  my  children's  children  might  have 
places  like  this.  I  revelled  in  the  thought  of 
Lucile's  little  boys  and  girls  playing  perhaps 
over  these  very  formal  paths,  and  talking  about 
their  great  grandfather  who  was  a  great  and 
gentle  nobleman.  Good  birth  brings  a  tran 
quillity  of  spirit  that  is  a  precious  heritage.  It 
is  worth  a  millionaire's  purchase  for  his  de 
scendants. 

The  Count  came  down  one  of  these  paths 
and  after  a  bow  and  a  question  seated  himself 
beside  me. 

I  said  to  him  some  flattering  things  sug 
gested  by  my  reveries,  although  it  may  readily 
be  imagined  that  I  kept  the  core  of  them  in 
my  own  heart. 

"It  is  a  beautiful  old  place,"  he  said.  "We 
all  love  it.  I  wish  there  were  more  money  to 
keep  it  up." 

"But  I  thought "  I  said  before  I  reflected. 

"That  my  sister-in-law,  the  Marquise  was 
very  rich?  That  is  true,  but  she  has  no  son. 


1  Am  Asked  for  My  Daughter's  Hand  101 

It  is  a  tradition  that  Verriere  shall  go  with  the 
title.  Naturally  my  brother  and  sister  will 
enrich  their  own  daughter  with  their  fortune. 
I  shall  doubtless,  or  my  children,  come  into 
Verriere. 

"I  am  sure,"  I  said,  "that  there  could  be  no 
prouder  task  for  a  woman  than  to  make  this 
place  beautiful  for  her  son." 

The  Count  took  my  hand  and  kissed  it  in 
quite  the  old  manner.  I  had  a  rush  of  maternal 
affection  for  him.  He  was  handsome  and  he 
seemed  sincere. 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  we  each  felt 
that  we  were  drawing  long  breaths. 

"Madame,  lam  sure  that  you  will  not  mis 
understand  me  when  I  say  that  I  hope  that  it 
will  be  the  children  of  your  beautiful  daughter 
who  will  inherit  Verriere." 

For  an  instant  my  cheeks  burned.  There 
are  some  things  which  we  Americans  never 
say.  I  wonder  why.  I  suppose  I  would  be 
told  that  it  comes  from  Puritanism  in  the  early 
settlers.  But  those  Puritans  were  English,  and 
they  were  hard-headed,  simple  folk  who  had 
large  families  and  wrote  down  some  curious 
things  in  their  diaries.  As  for  the  Virginians, 
they  were  of  a  notoriously  easy  manner  of 


IO2  T'he  Highroad 

speech,  yet  their  descendants  consider  it  in 
delicate  to  mention  posterity.  Not  only  con 
sider  it,  but  feel  it,  indelicate.  I  had  that 
instant  been  thinking  of  Lucile's  children  until 
I  could  almost  feel  their  soft  little  hands,  but 
when  Julien  spoke  I  was  almost  resentful.  It 
hurried  my  words. 

"I  suppose,"  I  said,  "you  are  making  a  pro 
posal  for  the  hand  of  Lucile. " 

"I  am,  Madame,  on  one  condition.  It  is 
best  to  be  frank,  is  it  not?  It  is  necessary  that 
the  bride  who  comes  to  Verriere  shall  be  rich. 
However  much  I  love  your  daughter  I  should 
be  false  to  my  race,  to  the  trust  of  my  ances 
tors,  if  for  my  own  selfish  happiness  during  a 
few  years,  I  condemned  my  children  to  pov 
erty.  Were  I  so  reckless  I  should  not  be 
worthy  to  be  the  husband  of  your  daughter. 
Is  it  not  so?" 

His  manner  was  winning,  and  his  argument 
was  good. 

"I  am  of  the  old  families  of  France,  Ma 
dame.  There  are  too  few  of  us  now.  I  am,  as 
my  ancestors  have  been  for  two  hundred  years, 
an  agnostic.  We  are  nominally  Catholics 
because  it  is  necessary  that  the  lower  classes 
shall  have  an  example.  But  to  me  my  im- 


I  Am  Asked  for  My  Daughter's  Hand  103 

mortality  means  the  immortality  of  my  race. 
I  shall  live  again  in  my  line,  and  I  want  them 
to  be  people  of  the  great  world  still  holding 
their  lands  and  their  peasants  unto  many 
generations." 

"You  do  my  child  a  great  honor." 

"I  love  her.  I  want  her  for  my  wife.  It  has 
always  been  my  hope  to  be  able  to  marry  a 
wife  who  would  be  not  only  the  mother  of  my 
sons,  but  my  beloved.  I  am  not  like  my 

brother '  He  threw  out  his  hands  in 

more  or  less  contempt. 

"Let  me  think,"  I  said,  and  we  sat  there  in 
the  vine-hooded  recess,  the  little  stupid  lizards 
running  over  the  hot  stones,  and  a  cicada  call 
ing  out  its  news  of  coming  autumn.  There  was 
a  lattice  behind  us  matted  with  vines,  and  a 
seat  quite  hidden  from  ours  on  the  other  side. 
The  way  up  to  this  seat  was  over  the  sod,  and 
therefore  noiseless.  It  was  with  a  start  that  I 
heard  voices  coming  from  there.  I  put  out  my 
hand  involuntarily  and  touched  that  of  Julien, 
and  made  to  rise.  He  held  me  and  smiled. 
Evidently  they  had  stopped  but  to  pick  a  rose 
from  the  climber. 

It  was  Lady  Flora  and    the  Due  de  B . 

"This  old  garden  is  so  neglected,  that  I  am 


IO4  The  Highroad 

sure  they  will  not  mind  our  having  a  great 
bunch.  They  will  look  so  lovely  on  my  white 
gown  at  dinner." 

Now  surely  that  conversation  sounded  inno 
cent  enough,  and  as  though  en  passant.  It 
seemed  a  pity  for  the  Count  and  me  to  break 
up  our  tete-a-tete  at  this  stage.  Smiling  at 
each  other,  we  sat  quite  still. 

"Oh,  Henri!"  were  the  next  words,  "How 
can  we  bear  it!" 

"It  must  be  borne.     There  is  no  other  way." 

I  could  see  in  my  mental  vision  the  dry  little 
shrug  which  went  with  the  words. 

"Oh,  Henri,  how  can  you  say  so?  We  are 
both  miserable.  You  with  that  American,  and 
I  with  a  man  old  enough  to  be  my  grandfather. 
Why  should  love  and  our  own  lives  be  denied 
us?  Why?" 

"Because,  my  dear  Flora,"  the  Duke  said, 
"we  are  not  in  a  position  to  elope.  We  must 
make  the  most  of  it  as  it  is.  We  see  each 
other." 

"But  how,  how?"  she  interrupted  passion 
ately.  "Like  this,  where  I  cannot  even " 

"But,  my  dear,  you  are " 

At  this  I  arose,  but  Julien  drew  me  oack  to 
the  seat. 


I  Am  Asked  for  My  Daughter's  Hand  105 

"Impossible!"  his  lips  framed 

I  looked  a  scarlet  protest,  but  really  I  could 
not  clatter  out  over  the  stone  walk  and  let 
them  know  we  had  heard.  If  it  had  been  only 
I — but  Julien  was  in  the  place  of  a  host  to 
them.  It  would  not  do. 

I  put  my  fingers  up  to  my  ears  and  sat  side- 
wise  so  that  Julien  might  not  see  that  the  tips 
of  them  did  not  very  seriously  impair  my  hear, 
ing. 

Lady  Flora  had  not  oeen  kind  enough  to  me 
for  me  to  wish  to  spare  her,  for  one  thing. 
For  another,  I  had  never  heard  a  real  conver 
sation  of  this  sort  and  I  was  curious  about  it. 
I  wanted  to  know  if  they  talked  like  the  people 
in  novels.  Lady  Flora  did.  It  was  because 
she  did  it  so  often  to  so  many  men  that  Mr. 
Pinero  caught  her  and  made  her  into  a  type. 
But  of  course  in  reality  she  lacked  some  of 
the  smartness  of  silliness  with  which  the  play 
wright  endowed  her. 

"What  is  this?'  she  asked.  "I  want  again 
the  happiness  of  the  old  days  in  Ajaccio.  I 
want  the  rest  of  my  life  to  be  spent  with  you, 
only  with  you — in  some  spot  sunshiny  with  our 
affection." 

"On  what?"  asked  the  Duke. 


io6  The  Highroad 

"Had  you  married  nobody,  or  even  a  wife 
with  money,  it  could  be  done." 

The  utterly  commonplace  tone  of  this  remark 
of  Lady  Flora's  following  the  high-flown  non 
sense  of  the  other,  almost  made  me  smile 
before  I  realized  that  Julien  did  not  know  that 
I  could  hear. 

He  grinned. 

They  kept  at  it  for  half  an  hour,  while  we 
sat  there  afraid  to  move.  Lady  Flora  seemed 
to  be  always  urging  the  Duke  to  a  divorce,  to 
desert  his  wife  and  come  to  England — to  do 
anything  so  that  she  could  be  near  him.  To 
her  overtures  he  was  cynical  sometimes,  polite 
sometimes,  and  negative  always.  I  fairly 
gloated  over  that.  He  was  almost  snubbing. 

After  they  had  gone  away,  Julien  took  my 
hands  gently  from  my  ears.  I  afterwards 
found  it  extremely  useful  not  to  have  heard 
that  conversation.  Had  Julien  known  that  I 
had  done  so  he  must  have  wondered  at  my  sub 
sequent  conduct.  If  silence  is  the  goddess  of 
the  lucky,  deafness  is  her  cup-bearer. 

"I  feared  I  should  recognize  their  voices,"  I 
said 

"It  was  that  of  a  man  who  feels  that  he  has 
given  his  wife  more  than  he  receives.  It  is 


I  Am  Asked  for  My  Daughter's  Hand  107 

right  that  a  husband  and  wife  should  be  equal  — 
at  least  in  France.  A  woman  is  foolish  who 
puts  herself  in  the  position  of  a  dependent/' 

I  looked  over  the  garden  again,  but  the  little 
children  of  Lucile  were  not  there  any  more 
They  had  faded  away  like  the  rainbows  we  see 
sometimes  in  reflections  from  quite  common 
bits  of  glass  Already  I  was  laughing  at  my 
self  for  thinking  that  I  could  do  it.  And  sup 
pose  I  could?  Would  it  be  worth  while? 

"Let  me  tell  you  this  to-morrow,"  I  said. 
"I  am  a  little  upset  now.  I  am  glad  you  have 
been  so  frank  with  me.  It  is  a  strange  idea  to 
an  American  parent,  but  you  are  right  I  am 
quite  sure  you  are  right." 

"Then  you  will  tell  me  now  that  I  may  be 
sure  of  speaking  to  Lucile  to-morrow?"  He 
was  holding  my  hand  as  we  stood  by  the  little 
garden  door. 

"Oh,"  I  laughed,  "almost  sure.  I  would  like 
first  to  tell  you  exactly  her  fortune.  And — do 
you  not  want  the  family  lawyers  to  verify  it?" 

"Why,"  he  asked  practically,  "should  you 
deceive  us?  The  family  will  ask  that — but  that 
need  be  only  a  last  formality.  I  want  to  speak 
to  my  lovely  Lucile,  my  pretty  white  flower, 
my  dainty  little  bit  by  Nattier." 


io8  'The  Highroad 

He  was  quite  the  poet  and  lover. 

I  went  into  the  house  and  I  was  wondering 
how  sure  I  was  of  Lucile — and — an  idea  that 
was  growing  in  my  mind  began  to  fill  it.  I  felt 
as  wise  as  old  Talleyrand. 


Lucile's  Mind  109 

X 

Lucile  s  Mind 

I  had  a  task  before  me  and  I  hardly  knew 
how  to  carry  it  out.  I  sat  down  before  my 
open  window  and  looked  across  the  country 
which  had  suddenly  ceased  to  be  interesting  to 
me.  Only  a  few  hours  before,  it  had  been 
almost  my  future  home.  My  grandchildren 
were  to  play  and  ride  and  perform  the  tasks  of 
life  here,  on  this  soil,  in  this  air.  In  time  they 
would  become  part  of  it.  In  a  thousand  years, 
I  had  thought,  the  lump  of  West  Virginia  clay 
that  was  I,  would  be  in  thousands  of  French 
men — leavening  them,  I  had  hoped.  The  his 
tory  of  France  would  be  different  because  I  had 
been.  Napoleon  could  say  no  more. 

And  now,  thank  heaven,  I  know  where  to 
draw  out  of  the  game!  But  what  was  I  to  say 
to  Lucile?  I  intended,  of  course,  that  she 
should  refuse  Julien.  Nothing  less  would 
leave  the  child  her  assurance.  To  be  given  up 
and  never  to  be  told  the  reason  might  be 
a  tonic  to  some  strong  characters,  but  not  to 
Lucile.  She  was  practical  and  not  particularly 


no  I'he  Highroad 

sensitive,  but  she  was  not  a  Damascus  blade.  I 
knew  her  limitations. 

At  first  I  thought  of  telling  her  the  truth, 
but — she  would  never  be  the  same  again  if  she 
once  knew  that  she  was  pretending — that  I  was 
pretending.  It  might,  too,  make  a  difficulty 
in  the  future.  I  brushed  my  hair  and  thought. 
Anyway,  I  need  do  nothing  to-night. 

But  I  did. 

We  went  down  to  dinner  and  ate  the  daily 
French  dishes,  which  are  stale  and  stupid 
enough.  The  English  have  given  the  French 
a  reputation  for  being  wonderful  cooks — 
because  they  know  how  to  make  bread  and 
mayonnaise,  and  have  the  wit  to  keep  fresh 
olive  oil  in  the  house.  In  reality  French  cook 
ing  is  only  really  fine  when  it  is  done  for 
Americans.  The  French  are  too  economical 
in  their  kitchens. 

The  talk  was  smarter  than  usual.  The 
Count  in  particular  was  brilliant  of  eye  and 
ready  of  tongue.  Lady  Flora  was  full  of  the 
sort  of  mildly  vicious  epigram  which  she  had 
learned  from  the  various  men  she  had  known — 
not  wisely,  but  too  well.  You  can  always  see 
how  men  regard  a  fool  by  the  reflections  of 
them  the  fool  gives  out. 


Lucile's  Mind  1 1 1 

"I  heard  some  one  say  once,"  Lady  Flora 
said,  "that  a  diplomatist  did  not  need  to  know 
the  secret  of  his  adversary.  He  need  only 
pretend  that  he  knew  it.  Everybody  has 
one." 

"Do  you  think,  then,"  I  asked,  "that  it  is 
fair  to  use  a  knowledge  of  another's  secret  for 
your  own  end?" 

"In  diplomacy,  as  in  love  and  war,  all  is 
fair,"  she  said  with  an  air  of  being  original  and 
witty. 

Two  hours  later  I  sat  beside  Lady  Flora  on 
the  sofa  where  fehe  had  spread  her  white  lace 
gown,  and  I  wasted  little  time  coming  to  my 
point. 

"I  expect  to  bring  my  daughter  to  England 
next  season."  I  spoke  as  though  I  were  sure 
that  this  was  the  piece  of  information  she  had 
been  waiting  for. 

She  put  up  her  lorgnette  and  looked  at  me. 
It  was  a  beautiful  jewel.  The  handle  was  a 
stem  of  roses  worked  in  diamonds,  emeralds 
and  rubies.  I  took  time  thoroughly  to  exam 
ine  it. 

"I  wonder,"  I  said,  "if  I  shall  meet  the 

Due  de  B there.  I  hear  that  he  is  an  old 

friend  &*,  v«ur  husband." 


H2  The  Highroad 

"My  husband,"  she  began,  and  she  put 
down  the  lorgnette. 

"You  must  sometimes  find  it  very  lonely 
with  no  young  people  near  you.  I  suppose  it  is 
for  that  reason  you  are  away  from  England  so 
much." 

My  tone  was  full  of  sympathy.  I  took  the 
lorgnette  out  of  her  hand  in  a  quite  familiar 
fashion.  We  were  like  two  dear  friends  chat 
ting  there  together  on  the  tete-a-tete.  It  was  a 
long  conversation  and  most  impersonal.  I 
spoke  more  freely  to  Lady  Flora  than  to  any 
one  I  had  known  since  Prolmann.  I  told  her 
how  I  pitied  women  whose  husbands  were  jeal 
ous  and  disagreeable,  and  how  I  would  always 
stand  by  my  friends.  A  woman  who  was  tied 
for  life  to  a  man  like  that  had  enough  to  bear 
without  the  censoriousness  of  the  world.  I 
kept  moralizing.  It  happened  that  few  women 
were  happy  enough  to  spend  their  lives  in 
some  of  the  earth's  sunny  spots  with  those 
they  loved.  I  was  almost  eloquent  over  that. 
Lady  Flora  became  a  little  pale,  but  she  was 
agreeable,  and  we  arrived  at  something  like  a 
sudden  intimacy,  which  culminated  in  an  invi 
tation  to  Lucile  and  me  for  a  house  party  in 
Scotland  that  autumn  at  Lady  Flora's  magnifi- 


Lucile's  Mind  113 


cent  place.  "I  suppose,"  she  said,  "I  must 
ask  Comte  Julien  also." 

"I  do  not  know,"  I  answered  frankly,  "Lu- 
cile  has  the  American  girl's  privilege;  I  shall 
not  try  to  influence  her  in  any  way.  And, 
from  all  I  hear,  I  doubt  the  advisability  of 
American  girls  marrying  Frenchmen.  And 
the  Frenchmen,  too,  would  be  happier  with 
women  more  like  themselves." 

Actually  the  woman  was  so  stupendously  silly 
that  she  brightened  at  that  as  though  I  had 
paid  her  a  compliment.  She  had  been  thor 
oughly  frightened  when  she  understood  that  I 
knew  her  intrigue.  I  could  see  her  moistening 
her  lips,  and  she  had  at  once  begun  to  placate 
me,  to  take  me  into  her  circle,  to  make  herself 
too  valuable  to  me  to  be  ruined  by  me.  She 
was  even  weaker  and  sillier  than  I  had  thought 
her;  but  she  loved  to  hear  the  suggestion  that 

de  B would  be  happier  with  a  woman  of 

his  own  sort.  She  wanted  somebody  to  notice 
(what  was  not  entirely  true)  that  he  was  un 
happy  with  his  wife.  She  did  not  quite  believe 
de  B . 

After  Lucile  had  gone  to  her  room  I  followed 
her  in  my  negligee,  and  discovered  her  on  her 
knees  saying  her  prayers.  I  have  often  won- 


H4  The  Highroad 


dered  how  long  a  modern  woman  keeps  up  that 
habit.  It  is  one  that  was  never  taught  to  me. 
Am  I  vulgar  as  I  laugh  at  the  remembrance 
that  my  childish  nightly  formality  was  washing 
my  bare  feet?  I  gave  that  up  when  I  began  to 
wear  shoes. 

I  waited  respectfully  until  the  praying  was 
over,  and  Lucile,  looking  very  demure  and  pretty 
in  her  lace-trimmed  gown  with  her  reddish  hair 
in  two  smooth  braids,  was  between  the  sheets. 

"Is  it  anything,  Mamma?"  she  asked. 
"Didn't  you  like  the  way  my  hair  was  done? 
The  Duchess's  maid  taught  it  to  Emelie." 

"I  think  you  will  never  care  to  have  it 
dressed  so  again,  when  I  tell  you  what  I  have 
come  to  say,"  I  said  gravely. 

Lucile  sat  up. 

"What  is  it?" 

"My  dear,"  I  said  as  I  took  her  hand.  "I 
have  tried  to  keep  all  knowledge  of  the  evil  of 
the  world  from  you,  but  unhappily  it  cannot  be 
altogether  shut  out  of  any  life." 

Lucile  did  not  look  frightened,  but  puzzled, 
and  then  her  face  cleared. 

"Isn't  the  Duchess  altogether  comme  ilfauf?" 
she  asked,  "Do  you  know,  Mamma,  I  thought 
so!" 


Lucile's  Mind  115 


It  was  my  turn  to  gasp. 

"To  begin  with  they  told  stories  about  her 
at  the  convent.  You  know  she  was  educated 
there.  Girls  said  their  aunts  and  sisters  had 
said  that  in  their  day  she  was  always  toadying 
to  girls  who  were  a  little  silly  and  would  invite 
her  home  with  them.  They  said  her  mother 
was  quite  uneducated,  and — used  to  pick  at  her 
teeth  r 

Oh  these  innocent  children  of  ours! 

"Was  that  all?"  I  asked  meekly. 

"No,"  said  Lucile,  "of  course,  Mamma,  I 
should  speak  of  this  only  to  you.  They  said 
she  got  herself  called  'the  rich  American'  and 
in  that  way  made  some  friends  and  came  to 
know  the  Duke,  and  he  was  attracted  by  her — 
had — had" — Lucile  looked  away  and  blushed — 
"kissed  her,  and — not  like  a  lady  at  all — you 
know." 

"You  wouldn't  care  to  be  married  like 
that?" 

"No,  oh,  no!"  she  said  with  horror.  "Of 
course  one  would  like  to  care  a  great  deal  for 
the  man  one  married,  but  to  have  him  care  for 
you  like  that — oh,  that  is  so  disrespectful.  I 
like  everything  comme  il  fout"  Lucile  fin 
ished  loftily. 


n6  The  Highroad 

"And  you  certainly  would  not  wish  to  marry 
a  man  who  had  that  sort  of  "caring"  for  an 
other  woman?" 

"Never!" 

"Then,  my  dear,  I  must  tell  you  some 
thing.  I  have  discovered  that  the  Count 
has  been  attracted  by  the  Duchess.  It  is 
a  thing  no  young  girl  should  know,  but  I  tell 
you  because  before  discovering  it,  I  had  told 
Julien  that  he  might  propose  for  your  hand.. 
Of  course  you  will  not  tell  him  that  you  know 
this." 

Lucile  looked  positively  ugly.  Her  nostrils 
flared  flat,  and  her  complexion  became  a  dull 
red.  I  held  my  breath.  What  blood  had  I 
called  out?  What  was  there  back  behind  us 
that  made  a  woman  look  like  that?  Presently 
the  blood  went  back. 

"I'll  not  tell  him,"  she  said.  "Do  you 
think  I  would  let  him  know  that  I  knew  my 
self  the  rival  of  an  old  married  flirt?  And 

— what    can   you   expect?     Her   mother " 

Lucile  threw  out  her  hands  in  an    expressive 
gesture. 

What  do  girls  speak  of  as  they  pace  the 
peaceful  garden  walks  in  their  sheltered 
schools? 


Lucile's  Mind  117 


"My  dear,"  I  said,  "the  Count  is  our  host. 
You  will  remember  les  convenances?" 

"I  am  an  American.  I  do  not  care  for  him. 
An  American  can  always  say  that."  And  then 
she  turned  over  in  bed. 

I  drew  a  long  sigh  of  relief. 


n8  The  Highroad 


XI 

A  Glimpse  of  England 

I  actually  do  not  know  in  what  terms  Lucile 
refused  to  become  the  wife  of  Julien.  I  only 
know  that  I  felt  I  could  trust  her  to  make  her 
refusal  graceful  and  as  the  result  of  her  own 
wish.  When  it  was  over,  I  spoke  to  Julien  in  a 
shocked  and  sorry  way.  I  think  there  were 
tears  in  my  eyes.  I  did  feel  it.  I  had  wanted 
him,  and  I  had  wanted  that  beautiful  and 
charming  place  for  mine.  We  were  sympatica, 
Julien  and  I,  and  it  was  with  a  nervous  heart 
ache  that  I  relinquished  him.  It  was  not  so 
much  to  Lucile.  Talk,  you  romancers,  as 
much  as  you  like.  Love  is  not  paramount  in 
the  heart  of  the  average  girl.  Her  pride  had 
been  wounded  and  she  was  angry,  but  the  con 
vent  years  had  given  her  a  peaceful  mask. 
She  seemed  distressed  in  a  well-bred  way — dis 
tressed  that  she  could  not  love  the  man  who 
loved  her.  It  was  admirable.  And  I?  I  lay 
awake  at  night  almost  knowing  what  hysterics 
meant  in  my  balancing  between  tears  over  the 


A  Glimpse  of  England  119 

lost  opportunity  and  laughter  over  the  comedy 
of  it  all. 

Julien  behaved  admirably  but  I  saw  that  we 
must  go.  The  Marquise  could  not  understand 
us,  and  she  said  so.  She  felt  that  I  was  giving 
Lucile  too  free  a  rein.  It  frightened  her.  She 
said  she  thought  she  must  bring  Lili  home.  If 
the  American  ideas  permeated  my  entire  fam 
ily,  there  would  be  no  means  of  judging  to 
what  extent  Lili  was  already  contaminated  by 
them.  I  sorrowfully  agreed  with  her.  I  was 
not  in  a  position  to  make  enemies  anywhere, 
but  I  mentioned  that  Madame  Vestrine  was  not 
an  American,  and  as  having  Lili  at  home  would 
have  seriously  put  her  out,  the  child  was 
allowed  to  remain,  thus  giving  me  a  continued 
hold  upon  the  family.  I  could  see  by  the 
shrewdness  in  the  Marquise's  eyes  that  she  was 
holding  me  also.  Genevieve  might  be  more 
amenable  to  reason,  and  after  the  American 
fashion,  one  girl  would  be  as  great  an  heiress 
as  the  other. 

I  could  see  the  curiosity  all  about  us  when 
we  took  our  departure  for  Homburg.  Those 
of  the  party  who  had  been  inclined  to  think  us 
nobodies  had  changed  their  minds.  To  refuse 
the  Count  was  a  thing  that  only  those  sure 


I2O  'The  Highroad 

of  themselves  could  afford.  After  all  my 
defeat  became  triumph. 

We  went  to  Homburg  because  Lady  Hastings 
was  going  there.  Being  two  women  alone,  we 
did  not  go  to  the  great  hotel  where  the  then 
Prince  of  Wales  stayed,  except  for  a  day  and 
night.  He  had  already  arrived  and  Homburg 
was  filling  up  with  the  few  friends  who  accom 
panied  him  and  the  many  who  wished  to 
appear  to  have  done  so.  Besides,  there  were 
the  Americans. 

A  number  of  years  ago,  a  certain  cousin  of 
Queen  Victoria  was  a  gay  young  soldier.  It  was 
hard  to  realize  it  that  autumn  at  Homburg,  for 
his  lined,  wrinkled,  rather  foolish  old  face  had 
little  suggestion  of  either  beauty  or  gallantry. 
It  is  probable  that  had  he  not  been  surrounded 
by  the  glamour  of  royalty  he  would  have  been 
like  dozens  of  his  race,  only  a  thick-headed, 
thick-skinned,  middle  class  young  man  in  that 
long  ago.  But  he  was  the  grandson  of  that 
puissant  king,  whom  our  ancestors  derided, 
George  the  Third.  At  any  rate  he  had  all  the 
privileges  of  gallantry  and  bravery  and  beauty, 
and  he  fell  in  love  with  a  rather  heavy  young 
actress  in  a  minor  role  at  one  of  the  London 
theaters.  She  almost  died  with  delight.  Vic- 


A  Glimpse  of  England  121 

toria  had  not  been  long  enough  on  the  throne 
then  for  the  traditiori  of  the  splendor  of  being 
a  king's  favorite  to  have  died  away.  Of  course 
the  young  soldier  wasn't  a  king,  but  he  was 
near  enough  for  a  poor  young  actress.  He  had 
a  suite  of  rooms  in  the  old  St.  James  palace, 
where  his  widowed  mother  also  lived,  and  with 
the  delicacy  which  has  always  distinguished  his 
race  he  took  the  actress  there.  Nobody 
thought  much  of  it.  William  had  made  Lon 
don  pretty  well  acquainted  with  the  train  of 
ladies  whom  he  honored  with  his  attentions, 
and  George  the  Fourth  had  preceded  him. 
Even  Queen  Victoria  probably  considered  it  a 
necessary  whiling  away  of  the  Royal  Duke's 
time  until  some  princess  came  out  of  the  school 
room.  It  was  just  as  her  own  father  had  spent 
his  time  before  it  became  necessary  to  marry. 
But  one  day  the  Duke's  mother  wanted  to  go 
to  drive,  and  the  actress  had  taken  her  car 
riage.  She  sent  for  her  son  and  she  said  things 
that  hurt  his  feelings.  He  went  out  and  told 
everybody  about  it,  and  drank  a  great  deal, 
and  then  he  went  up  to  talk  to  the  actress. 
She  told  him  that  he  could  make  it  all  right  by 
allowing  her  to  call  herself  Mrs.  Fitz  and  going 
through  a  marriage  ceremony.  Of  course  it 


122  'The  Highroad 

would  not  be  legal  because  he  was  a  royalty, 
but  it  would  serve.  "So  by  this  time,"  old  Gen 
eral  Steyn  who  told  me  the  story  said,  "the 
Duke  being  oblivious  to  all  except  the  fact  that 
he  wanted  his  boots  off  and  peace,  the  lady, 
who  had  prepared  for  just  this,  married  him." 

The  strong-minded  lady  kept  him  married. 
She  was  the  man  of  the  family  and  even  defied 
the  Queen  herself,  when  that  stern  moralist 
wished  to  break  up  her  rapidly  increasing 
home  circle.  The  son  of  the  actress  was  a 
colonel  in  the  English  army,  and  he  followed 
royalty  about  and  gave  some  Americans  a  taste 
of  the  bliss  of  shaking  his  hand  and  pour 
ing  wine  for  the  great-grandson  of  a  king. 
They  seemed  to  find  it  thrilling  that  season  at 
Homburg,  although  the  king  was  a  poor  old 
lunatic  and  the  great-grandson  was  ill-born. 
One  can  see  photographs  of  Americans  taken 
with  the  Royal  Duke's  son,  at  the  Homburg 
photographer's  even  now.  They  probably  send 
them  home  as  a  proof  that  they  are  in  the  really 
smart  English  set.  The  colonel's  wife  massages 
faces  on  Bond  Street  in  London  now,  I  believe. 

Poor  funny  old  English  royalty!  It  always 
has  been  funny  since  the  Stuarts  left,  and 
nobody  knows  it  better  than  some  of  the 


A  Glimpse  of  England  123 

English  nobles.  But  I  didn't  know  it  when  I 
reached  Homburg  that  autumn.  When  we 
went  into  the  hotel  I  saw  a  man  in  scarlet  liv 
ery  standing  by  a  little  table  on  which  lay  H. 
R.  H.'s  Visitor's  Book.  He  had  been  keeping 
it  since  early  spring  in  Copenhagen.  It  must 
be  confessed  that  the  names  in  it  were  not  all 
distinguished;  one  or  two  weic  frankly  Jewish. 
Sometimes  an  old  friend  had  written  a  line  or 
two.  I  looked  at  it,  hesitated  as  though  I 
would  write  my  name,  and  then  decided  not, 
for  the  benefit  of  the  servant.  But  I  have  writ 
ten  my  name  since  on  bits  of  paper  which  are 
actually  read  by  the  Royalties  themselves. 

When  I  saw  the  Americans  at  Homburg,  I 
almost  ran.  Many  of  them  were  people  of 
position  in  New  York.  There  was  one  woman, 
who  had  endured  there  in  the  long  ago  some 
thing  almost  like  bellehood.  Her  father  had 
been  a  famous  hotelkeeper.  She  had  married  an 
Englishman  of  good  family,  not  very  well  off, 
and  they  were  among  those  who  are  asked 
about  to  be  amusing,  but  whose  real  position  is 
one  which  the  newspaper  writers  who  keep  her 
photographs  before  the  public  could  never 
understand.  She  is  an  "American,"  and  that 
is  practically  her  entire  distinction. 


124  We  Highroad 


But  how  ignorant  I  was  of  all  this  then!  I 
felt  that  these  people  could  annihilate  me, 
could  tear  my  pretensions  to  flimsy  rags  which 
would  never  cover  me.  So  they  could,  if  they 
had  known  enough.  My  very  shakiness  kept 
me  well  balanced  Like  a  tight-rope  walker, 
I  could  not  afford  to  make  the  slightest  blun 
der.  Consequently  Lucile  and  I  were  hardly 
seen  until  Lady  Flora  arrived.  Then  we  went 
over  to  the  hotel  and  lunched  with  her  on  the 
veranda. 

"It  is  not  quite  the  thing  to  do,  '  Lady  Flora 
said  shrugging  her  shoulders,  "'but  I  can  do  it. 
I  like  to  see  the  people  when  I  come  to  a  place 
like  this." 

"I  hope,"  I  said  almost  timidly,  "that 
people  will  not  hear  that  Lucile  has  just  re 
fused  Comte  Julien  Malpierre.  It  would  sur 
round  us  with  gossip,  make  us  conspicuous.  It 
would  be  very  unfortunate." 

Lady  Flora  opened  her  mouth  as  though  to 
speak.  I  saw  a  gleam  of  relief  in  her  eyes. 
At  last  her  stupid  brain  had  caught  an  excuse 
for  having  us.  If  we  were  a  bad  bargain,  she 
did  not  want  her  world  to  discover  it.  After 
all  we  were  presentable. 

A  dozen  men  and  one  or  two  women  came 


A  Glimpse  ^England  125 

up  to  speak  to  Lady  Flora.  Sometimes  she 
introduced  one  or  two  shortly,  English  man 
ners  not  requiring  that  she  should  do  so.  But 
I  could  hear  quite  audible  inquiries  concerning 
us,  and  Lady  Flora's  invariable  answer  that 
we  were  "some  of  those  Americans  who  had 
lived  in  Europe  for  a  generation  or  two,  inter 
married  and  all  that,  ye  know.  Some  connec 
tions  of  old  Madame  Vestrine's.  Millionaires. 
They  have  just  refused  Julien  Malpierre." 

"Evidently  tired  of  the  continentals,"  one 
astute  gentleman  said.  "That  shows  good 
taste." 

Now  when  a  family  has  rejected  a  particu 
larly  good  match,  it  seems  to  show  that  they 
have  a  treasure  that  they  are  in  no  hurry  about 
disposing  of.  Lucile  was  talked  about  at  once, 
examined,  criticized.  She  looked  like  a  piece 
of  Dresden  china  because  she  was  artistically 
complete,  but  everybody  agreed  that  there 
was  nothing  so  tremendously  wonderful  about 
her  personally,  so  it  must  be  the  fortune  that 
made  her  so  valuable. 

A  fortune  is  more  valuable  any  time  than 
a  delightful  personality,  whatever  novelists 
may  say.  Why  do  we  value  the  personality  of 
another?  Simply  and  only  for  the  pleasure  it 


126  I'be  Highroad 

can  give  us.  A  great  deal  of  money  without 
any  drawbacks  can  give  more  pleasure  than 
anything  else.  Beauty  has  no  place  in  the 
running  against  it.  Of  course,  a  monstrosity 
and  a  fool  are  drawbacks  which  no  money  can 
really  overcome,  but  Lucile  was  neither  of 
these. 

Our  manner  was  good,  and  within  a  week  I 
was  serenely  unconscious  of  Americans.  We 
moved  in  that  charmed  set  which  had  hardly 
been  touched  by  America  in  those  days.  We 
were,  according  to  Lady  Flora,  people  who 
had  lived  abroad  for  a  generation  or  two.  I 
even  spoke  to  one  of  the  great  whom  I  came 
to  know,  of  my  "Godfather"  Prolmann,  giving 
him  his  discarded  title;  and  I  did  laugh  a  little 
when  I  ventured  to  tell  of  the  summers  I  had 
spent  on  his  yacht.  I  found  one  old  nobleman 
very  much  interested  when  he  heard  that  Ma 
dame  Vestrine  was  with  my  other  children  at 
Lausanne.  He  had  known  her  as  a  girl  in  Vienna 
when  he  was  a  young  attache*  there. 

Actually,  within  two  weeks  people  were 
wondering  a  little  why  a  person  of  so  much 
importance  as  I  should  be  about  with  Lady 
Flora  Hastings.  Lady  Flora  was  fashionable, 
but  hardly  the  friend  one  would  have  expected 


A  Glimpse  of  England  127 

a  woman  of  my  evident  character  and  position 
to  have  chosen.  It  was  finally  put  down  to 
Lucile's  youthful  taste.  But  I  clung  to  Lady 
Flora.  Nothing  better  was  in  sight.  We 
might  have  done  a  great  deal  for  ourselves  now 
had  we  really  had  the  fortune,  but  a  few  pitiful 
hundreds  of  pounds  a  years  was  all  we  had  for 
everything. 

I  had  not  yet  seen  Lady  Flora's  husband,  but 
I  knew  that  he  was  old,  and  I  gathered  from 
Lady  Flora's  conversation  that  he  was  a  man 
with  many  interests  separate  from  hers.  She 
spoke  of  him  as  being  jealous,  but  that,  I 
already  knew,  was  the  purest  fiction.  One  of 
the  most  amusing  things  in  my  amusing  life 
has  been  the  contemplation  of  the  casual  liar. 
Somebody  has  said  that  a  liar  needs  a  long 
memory.  More  than  anything  else,  a  liar  needs 
to  be  a  thorough  artist  in  human  nature.  The 
common  liar  takes  a  character  built  on  firm 
lines,  and  gives  to  it  an  attribute  or  an  act 
which  would  be  as  impossible  to  that  particular 
person  as  song  would  be  to  a  crow. 

I  gathered  a  fairly  correct  idea  of  Mr.  Her 
bert  (he  had  no  title)  from  his  wife,  and  during 
all  our  stay  in  Homburg  I  was  carefully  learn 
ing  the  way  into  his  regard.  He  was  old 


128  The  Highroad 

according  to  Lady  Flora,  almost  seventy. 
Whether  or  not  that  is  age  depends  upon  cir 
cumstances. 

We  did  not  meet  the  Great  Personage  who 
has  made  the  Homburg  of  to-day.  We  were 
not  conspicuous  enough  for  that,  although  I 
suppose  we  are  the  only  Americans  above  the 
tourist  class  who  ever  went  to  Homburg  who 
did  not  come  home  and  give  that  as  one  of 
their  experiences. 

Homburg  is  a  hot,  not  very  pretty,  little 
place,  and  there  was  none  of  the  gay,  romantic 
air  which  always  surrounds  a  Latin  resort.  We 
made  some  good  acquaintances,  and  before 
Lucile  became  in  any  sense  an  old  story  I  sent 
her  and  Emelie,  our  old  maid,  over  to  Lau 
sanne,  and  I  went  to  London.  There  were 
some  things  I  wanted  to  arrange. 

If  there  is  a  more  forlorn  and  lonely  place 
on  earth  than  London  in  August,  I  do  not 
know  where  it  can  be.  The  pavements  are 
torn  up,  the  streets  small,  the  people  hide 
ous.  There  is  never,  never,  a  time  when  Paris 
is  not  delightful.  In  the  summer  in  the  dullest 
days,  if  you  are  the  possessor  of  but  a  handful 
of  copper  sous,  you  may  take  one  of  the  little 
boats  and  go  up  the  Seine  and  be  amused  all 


A  Glimpse  of  England  129 

the  way.  A  little  vine-clad  balcony  at  a  river 
restaurant  will  be  like  a  scene  in  a  theater. 
A  girl  in  a  white  frock  with  a  red  hat  will  lean 
over  a  table  to  talk  to  a  young  man.  The 
French  are  artists  from  the  highest  to  the 
lowest.  If  I  am  ever  an  outcast,  with  not  a 
soul  to  speak  to  in  all  the  world,  I  shall  go  to 
Paris,  and  be  comparatively  happy  in  the  con 
templation  of  joyous,  cynical,  artistic  life. 
But  London  is  as  stodgy  as  her  putty-like 
bread. 

I  went  to  a  boarding-house  near  Kensington 
Gardens  because  I  wanted  to  save  every 
penny.  I  wish  I  could  stop  long  enough  to 
describe  that  manage.  The  landlady  deserves 
a  long  character  study.  She  was  the  widow  of 
a  fishmonger  "in  the  city,"  she  always  said, 
and  she  had  an  imagination  that  was  truly  re 
markable.  She  attended  auctions,  and  her 
house  was  filled  with  plunder  of  the  most  re 
markable  description.  She  declared  that  this 
was  made  up  of  heirlooms  from  her  uncle,  who 
had  died  in  India  and  left  a  great  fortune  which 
she  had  been  cheated  out  of.  Her  pretences 
were  so  transparent  that  they  hurt  me.  After 
all  she  was  something  like  me.  I  wondered  if 
people  could  see  through  me  as  easily. 


130  I'he  Highroad 

There  was  an  old  couple  who  had  lived  in 
Canada  for  some  years  and  thought  it  the 
America  of  to-day,  there  were  too  an  Arme 
nian,  who  was  devoted  to  the  cause  of  his  people 
(we  heard  a  good  deal  of  Armenia  in  those 
days),  and  a  negro  from  the  French  Islands 
who  was  studying  in  London  at  the  expense 
of  his  government. 

I  laughed  at  myself  as  I  sat  by  this  colored 
man  every  day  at  dinner,  and  realized  that  I 
had  no  feeling  of  repulsion  for  him  at  all.  We 
conversed  quite  amiably.  And  yet  even  in 
Fowlersburg  I  should  have  left  a  table  in  hor 
ror  at  the  thought  of  eating  with  a  negro. 
Here  of  course  I  said  nothing  about  my  na 
tionality;  I  was  a  simple  meek  little  woman, 
and  I  think  they  believed  me  a  governess  out 
of  employment. 

One  day  I  put  on  my  most  governess-like  air 
and  went  down  to  the  office  of  one  of  the  big 
illustrated  weeklies.  This  was  long,  long  before 
the  day  of  the  exploiting  of  women  through 
the  press,  as  we  now  know  it  in  America.  In 
those  days  it  was  only  royal  or  criminal  women's 
faces  which  were  common  in  print.  I  fancy 
sometimes  that  that  is  one  of  the  things  which 
the  world  owes  to  me. 


A  Glimpse  of  England  131 

I  took  with  me  a  large  and  most  beautiful 
picture  of  Lucile,  which  had  been  made  by  a 
young  Parisian  photographer  who  has  since 
become  famous.  It  gave  her  all  the  charms 
she  lacked  and  accented  those  she  pos 
sessed.  I  represented  to  that  weekly  news 
paper  editor  that  I  should  like  to  supply 
him  now  and  then  with  society  notes.  I 
offered  my  wares  very  cheap.  I  had  here 
a  photograph  of  Mademoiselle  Lucile,  the 
god-daughter  of  all  of  Prolmann's  titles,  a 
great  heiress,  whose  father  had  been  an 
American,  and  who  had  recently  rejected 
Comte  Julien  Malpierre 

The  editor  of  the  paper  almost  laughed  in 
my  face.  It  seems  that  he  had  a  correspond 
ent  at  Homburg  who  had  casually  mentioned 
the  Malpierre  story.  He  said  he  knew  it 
all.  He  gave  me  ten  shillings  for  the  photo 
graph. 

When  I  saw  the  stupendous,  amazing  story 
of  our  wealth  and  glory  which  accompanied  its 
publication  I  was  frightened.  Lucile  was  said 
to  have  half  a  million  acres  in  the  "fertile 
tobacco  lands  of  Virginia."  She  was  an 
"American  Princess." 

I  dreaded  a  contradiction  from  Fowlersburg. 


13  2  'The  Highroad 

But  I  doubt  much  if  a  copy  of  the  English 
paper  ever  reached  there,  and  if  it  had,  the  in 
habitants  were  of  the  order  of  mind  that 
believes  what  it  sees  in  print  even  when  it  is 
known  to  be  untrue. 


We  Visit  Lady  Flora  Hastings      133 


XII 

We  Visit  Lady  Flora  Hastings 

The  photograph  of  Lucile  made  a  mild  sen 
sation.  In  launching  a  young  girl  advertising 
of  the  right  sort  undeniably  is  of  advantage. 
Those  who  cannot  get  into  the  newspapers 
or  have  better  ways  of  reaching  the  public 
they  wish  to  impress  argue  differently,  but  I 
know  of  what  I  speak.  As  a  matter  of  course, 
for  a  woman  who  is  a  nobody  to  have  her  pic 
ture  labelled  "society  woman"  in  the  columns 
of  the  yellow  journals  means  nothing.  It  is 
sometimes  a  distinct  disadvantage  to  a  woman 
who  is  hovering  on  the  outer  edge  of  the  inner 
set.  And  a  bad  picture,  one  which  shows  her 
in  an  unattractive  fashion,  is  worse  than  none 
at  all.  But  advertising  of  the  right  sort  pays. 
After  all  what  is  fashion?  It  exists  entirely  in 
the  minds  of  the  world.  If  the  world  agrees 
that  you  are  famous  or  fashionable,  you  are  so, 
and  most  decidedly  if  it  ignores  you  you  are 
not.  You  can  become  that  intangible  thing — 
fashionable — only  by  impressing  the  public  in 


134  tte  Highroad 


one  way  or  another.  It  is  surprising  to  me 
that  the  use  of  personal  photographs  was  so 
long  in  coming.  It  was  very  lucky  for  Lucile 
that  it  was  so,  as  to-day  or  even  a  year  or  two 
after  my  experiment,  her  picture  would  have 
been  lost  in  the  crowd  of  "beauties"  that 
adorned  the  pages  of  all  the  weeklies  and  the 
cheap  monthlies.  Naturally  when  I  saw  the 
picture  I  was  indignant  to  all  my  friends,  thus 
calling  their  attention  to  it.  To  the  Mal- 
pierres  I  was  fairly  humble,  and  I  begged  them 
to  believe  that  neither  Lucile  nor  I  had  had  the 
bad  taste  to  mention  the  affair.  It  was  at 
Breck  Castle  that  I  saw  the  effect  of  it.  We 
were  regarded  with  curiosity.  There  was  no 
quiet  slipping-in  for  us. 

Mr.  Herbert  having  married  late  in  life  (and 
a  fool)  considered  all  women  poor  creatures, 
and  he  rather  enjoyed  what  he  considered  the 
fact.  It  took  them  out  of  the  realm  of  serious 
things  with  claims  to  being  considered  seri 
ously.  He  went  about  his  affairs  almost  as 
though  his  wife  had  no  existence.  She  was 
indulged  in  every  way,  but  she  knew  that  if  she 
gave  him  any  cause,  his  treatment  of  her  would 
be  absolutely  free  from  sentiment.  She  lived  in 
a  sort  of  nervous  terror  that  some  day  he  might 


We  Visit  Lady  Flora  Hastings      135 

find  a  pretext  to  divorce  her,  because  she  had 
not  fulfilled  expectations  in  providing  him  with 
an  heir.  He  hated  his  cousin's  son  who  would 
succeed  him,  while  believing  firmly  in  primo 
geniture  and  the  rights  of  the  family  name. 
This  fear  of  a  divorce  actually  seemed  at  times 
to  drive  Lady  Flora  into  doing  questionable 
things.  I  suppose  the  great  danger  she  ran 
fascinated  her,  just  as  physical  danger  some 
times  fascinates. 

Mr.  Herbert  and  I  became  friends  after  a 
fashion.  I  am  a  very  conservative,  modest, 
unassuming  woman  who  can  take  a  fairly  intel 
ligent  interest  in  almost  anything;  consequently 
I  always  get  along  with  men.  There  is  noth 
ing  about  me  to  dislike.  I  ask  nothing  of  them 
and  I  make  them  comfortable  when  they  are 
near  me. 

It  was  at  Breck  Castle  that  we  met  Lord 
Horton. 

Lord  Horton  was  at  this  time  under  a  tem- 
f  porary  cloud  politically  and  he  had  leisure  to 
go  a-visitingas  it  were, — something  he  had  had 
little  time  to  do  during  the  years  he  was  mak 
ing  the  reputation  which  brought  him  his  Vic 
torian  title. 

He  often  stayed  at  great  houses  during  those 


136  The  Highroad 

years,  but  I  doubt  if  he  had  ever  gone  any 
where  in  all  his  life  except  for  some  other  pur 
pose  than  that  of  enjoying  himself.  It  was  not 
altogether  pleasure  that  brought  him  to  Breck 
Castle. 

There  had  always  been  titles  and  money  in 
the  Horton  family,  but  this  one,  a  younger  son, 
had  earned  his  own  by  way  of  a  political 
career,  beginning  as  secretary  to  an  austere 
statesman.  Poor  Horton!  He  had  had  a  dull 
life  of  it!  And  the  saddest  part  of  it  is,  he 
never  knew  it.  He  always  typifies  middle 
class  England  to  me.  It  is  quite  a  mistake  to 
imagine  that  the  English  people  of  title  are  all 
true  aristocracy. 

By  no  means.  There  have  never  been  many 
families  in  Britain  who  were  truly  of  the  haut, 
in  spirit  or  tastes.  The  present  royal  family  is 
most  distressingly  middle  class.  Queen  Alex 
andra's  favorite  amusement  is  copying  por 
traits  of  her  family  on  teacups — very  badly — 
and  taking  photographs  of  her  daughters  (very 
bad)  with  their  heads  on  their  husbands' 
shoulders. 

They  have  a  portrait  of  Horton's  mother  at 
Rutherford,  done  about  1870,  when  she  was  in 
the  forties.  She  wears  a  headdress  and  a  look 


We  Visit  Lady  Flora  Hastings      137 

of  extreme  virtue.  I  know  that  they  had 
boiled  mutton,  brussels  sprouts  and  rice  pud 
ding  for  dinner  five  times  a  week,  followed  by 
a  supper  of  spiced  meats,  cheese,  whiskey  and 
water.  It  is  easy  to  tell  what  they  did,  so 
many  of  Horton's  kin  are  now  doing  the  same 
thing  every  day. 

I  can  imagine  poor  Horton's  youth.  He  is 
fifty.  I  know  that  at  Eton  he  was  a  serious 
lad,  who  pointed  out  to  his  fag  that  obedi 
ence  was  a  duty,  and  would  have  said  his 
prayers  in  the  face  of  the  whole  school.  At 
Oxford  he  was  called  a  "serious  and  promising 
young  man,"  who  scorned  frivolities.  It  is  a 
certainty  that  frivolities  never  sought  him  out, 
for  a  less  amusing  person  never  lived.  What 
a  number  of  people  scorn  the  lives  they  could 
never  have  lived! 

The  general  company  at  Breck  was  a  gay 
one.  It  is  only  people  of  position  who  can 
afford  to  be  truly  gay  and  let  such  wit  as  they 
have  show  itself.  They  are  like  artists  who 
know  their  technique  thoroughly  and  can 
afford  to  paint  in  bold  dashes  I  do  not 
know  in  all  the  social  world  anything  more 
pitiable  than  the  poor  imitators  of  society. 
In  England  particularly  they  make  a  sad  and 


138  The  Highroad 

woeful  band,  waiting  to  see  what  "they"  will 
do. 

It  settled  down  into  a  cold  and  rainy  autumn. 
Mr.  Herbert  had  once  let  Breck  to  an  Ameri 
can  family  and  they  had  fitted  it  with  steam. 
He  declared  that  he  never  would  have  thought 
of  it  himself,  but  that  it  doubled  the  value  of 
the  property  to  him. 

In  these  days,  sometimes  too  bad  even  for 
shooting,  with  long  evenings  in  the  house, 
Lucile  shone.  She  was  not  forward,  but  she 
was  always  good  tempered,  always  prettily 
dressed,  always  ready  for  any  amusement,  and 
best  of  all — always  comme  ilfatit.  How  I  con 
gratulated  myself  that  I  had  arranged  it  that 
she  should  reject  Julien!  There  is  nothing 
truer  than  that  the  world  is  inclined  to  accept 
us  at  our  own  valuation.  Lucile  felt  herself  of 
value,  and  a  princess  royal  could  not  have 
taken  homage  and  consideration  more  as  a 
matter  of  course. 

I  mentioned  one  day  that  I  had  found  a 
trunk  among  those  which  had  come  'with  us 
which  I  supposed  in  France.  It  contained 
Lucile's  costume  worn  in  the  little  play  that 
had  been  given  at  Verriere.  I  took  a  stupid 
day,  when  everybody  was  yawning  and  the 


We  Visit  Lady  Flora  Hastings      139 

men  were  aimlessly  knocking  billiard  balls 
about,  to  tell  of  the  stupidity  of  my  maid  in 
bringing  this  trunk.  As  I  had  anticipated,  the 
news  was  received  with  interest.  "Yes,  the 
manuscript  copy  of  the  play  was  there  also." 

In  an  hour  we  had  the  play-book  down  and 
were  giving  out  the  parts.  As  I  had  seen  the 
play  at  Verriere  I  was  called  upon  as  an 
authority,  and  to  the  amazement  of  everybody 
I  gave  to  Lord  Horton  the  part  which  had 
been  taken  at  Verriere  by  Julien.  Of  course 
Lucile  played  the  companion  part  to  it. 

At  first  Horton  hesitated  in  accepting  it, 
although  I  could  see  that  he  was  tremendously 
flattered.  It  had  been  a  pure  piece  of  audacity 
on  my  part,  but  I  believed  then,  and  I  believe 
now,  that  there  is  not  a  soul  on  earth,  however 
stupid  and  unsocial  it  may  be,  who  does  not  in 
day  dreams  see  itself  shining  as  a  social  light. 
Flattery  is  potent  just  because  we  believe  our 
selves  the  real  standard  of  excellence.  We 
know  that  there  are  people  handsomer  and 
cleverer,  according  to  the  world's  standard, 
but  that  standard  is  movable,  and  a  truly  en 
lightened  world  would  come  around  to  see  in 
us  the  model.  Of  course  we  know  we  lapse, 
but  we  could  be  everything  if  we  wished,  and  we 


140  The  Highroad 

should  be,  we  say  to  ourselves,  if  the  world 
were  taking  notice. 

As  I  had  shown  no  sort  of  preference  for 
Lord  Horton's  society,  and  as  I  was  frank  and 
sincere  in  all  my  other  assignments,  the  rest  of 
the  party,  after  a  clack  of  wonder,  conceded 
that  I  knew  my  business  and  tried  to  see  in 
Horton  the  characteristics  I  assured  them  he 
possessed,  which  were  revealed  in  the  dialogue 
and  action  of  the  little  play.  For  one  thing, 
it  was  in  French,  and  that  necessarily  was  a  lan 
guage  with  which  he  was  entirely  conversant. 

I  concluded  that  those  delicate  lover-like 
speeches  which  he  must  make  to  Lucile  would 
be  easier  for  him  to  say  in  French,  for  I 
guessed  that  lover-like  speeches  were  not  at 
home  on  Horton's  tongue,  which  made  me  all 
the  more  certain  that  I  had  found  in  him  one 
who  would  make  a  good  husband.  The  foun 
dation  virtues  of  a  good  husband  do  not  in 
clude  gallantry. 

After  the  play  Horton  followed  Lucile 
about,  fascinated  as  I  had  felt  sure  he  would 
be. 

Once  when  I  was  a  little  child  a  traveling 
preacher  visited  my  grandfather.  He  was  an 
uneducated  man,  but  with  an  unusually  original 


We  Visit  Lady  Flora  Hastings      141 

mind.  According  to  his  faith  he  continually 
tried  to  convert  me.  I  liked  him  very  much 
and  spoke  to  him  with  entire  freedom.  I  told 
him  that  I  couldn't  cry  over  my  sins,  which  he 
invited  me  to  do,  because  I  hadn't  any.  I 
couldn't  think  of  any  sins  then  but  lying  and 
stealing.  I  couldn't  steal,  because  I  never  saw 
anything  on  the  farm  which  I  couldn't  have  if 
I  wanted  it,  and  why  should  I  lie  when  my 
father  and  mother  allowed  me  to  do  exactly  as 
I  pleased? 

The  preacher  assured  me  that  we  were  all 
sinners  and  told  me  a  story  of  a  child  who 
was  in  my  "state. "  She  was  told  to  pray  every 
night,  "Lord,  show  me  that  I  am  a  miserable 
sinner,"  and  in  a  few  short  weeks  she  was 
"crying  at  the  mercy  seat. "  That  story  made 
a  profound  impression  upon  me.  I  carefully 
refrained  from  making  such  a  prayer  because  I 
had  no  desire  to  "cry  at  the  mercy  seat,"  but 
I  thought  about  it  and  I  reasoned  out  in  my 
little  mind  that  she  told  herself  she  was  a  sin 
ner  until  she  believed  she  was  one,  and  in  doing 
so  I  unconsciously  touched  a  point  in  mental 
science  on  which  much  is  built. 

After  Horton  had  rehearsed  lines  telling 
Lucile  she  was  a  paragon  of  beauty  and  virtue 


142  The  Highroad 

and  that  he  loved  her,  his  mind  began  to  accept 
it  as  a  fact.  He  could  not  do  it  mechanically 
as  another  accustomed  to  the  trick  would  have 
done.  His  mind  was  not  adjusted  to  the  say 
ing  of  lover-like  things  which  he  did  not  mean. 

I  was  not  at  all  surprised  when  Horton  came 
to  me  and  told  me  that  he  had  asked  Lucile  to 
marry  him  and  as  was  natural  had  been  re 
ferred  to  me. 

I  became  agitated  at  once,  and  a  good  deal 
of  it  was  real.  Horton  was  not  only  charmed 
by  Lucile's  youth  and  sweetness,  but  he  felt 
that  he  was  making  a  brilliant  match  from  a 
financial  point  of  view. 

No  need  to  undeceive  him  now.  If  we  got 
him  to  the  shadow  of  the  church  he  would  not 
face  back.  He  was  English.  He  might  sulk 
a  little  and  even  say  some  plain  impolite 
things,  but  he  would  not  desert  Lucile  and 
make  a  scandal  when  he  discovered  that  she 
was  practically  penniless. 

I  asked  him  if  he  loved  my  daughter  or  if 
he  were  taken  by  the  charm  of  simple  girlhood, 
and  then  he  told  me  some  things  which  sur 
prised  me.  He  said  that  Lucile  was  much 
more  than  a  simple  child.  She  thought  deeply 
upon  serious  subjects.  I  discovered  later  that 


We  Visit  Lady  Flora  Hastings       143 

the  nuns  at  the  convent  in  Paris  prepare  the 
girls  for  this  sort  of  emergency.  Many  of  the 
girls  educated  at  that  convent  are  expected  to 
marry  statesmen,  and  they  are  given  a  thin 
wash  of  general  information,  or  what  looks  like 
information.  They  have  a  patter  of  phrases, 
which  they  can  use  for  the  amazement  of  a 
man. 

Horton  told  me  seriously  that  he  expected 
Lucile  to  be  a  "helpmeet"  to  him,  and  that  he 
had  dared  ask  her  to  marry  him  because  her 
mind  was  so  mature. 

Considering  all  things,  Horton  was  a  much 
better  husband  for  Lucile  than  Julien  would 
have  ever  been.  But  when  was  a  "better" 
thing  too  attractive?  Lucile,  now  that  girl 
hood  is  gone,  is  a  cold  practical  woman.  I 
am  always  wondering  what  she  might  have 
been,  and  all  my  life  I  shall  miss  Julien  Mal- 
pierre  and  my  vision  of  French  history.  Yet 
Horton  is  a  faithful  and  I  believe  an  admiring 
husband. 


144  cTbe  Highroad 


XIII 

The  Settling  of  Lucile 

We  Americans  acquire  some  curious  ideas  of 
England  from  books.  Among  others,  is  a 
belief  that  in  winter  London  is  practically 
deserted  by  everything  that  could  be  called 
society.  "The  season"  in  early  summer  was 
supposed  by  me  to  constitute  the  only  time 
when  anybody  above  the  middle  class  was  seen 
in  London.  Really  nowadays  those  of  the 
aristocracy  who  can  afford  it  keep  their  town 
house  open  the  greater  part  of  the  year. 

Now  that  Lucile  was  engaged  my  first  im 
pulse  was  to  go  back  to  Paris  for  the  winter, 
let  her  marry  there,  and  save  the  expense  of  a 
London  establishment.  But  this  plan  had  dis 
advantages.  In  the  first  place,  the  Malpierres 
were  the  best  people  I  knew  in  Paris,  and  they 
could  hardly  be  expected  to  take  a  great  inter 
est  in  Lucile's  marriage.  I  even  doubted  if 
they  would  come  in  from  the  country  for  it. 
I  could  not  drive  Lady  Flora  to  the  point  of 
rebellion  by  insisting  that  she  should  give  Lucile 


Settling  of  Lucile  145 


her  wedding.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to 
take  a  furnished  house  in  Mayfair  by  dipping 
into  my  reserve  fund.  I  considered  this  from 
every  side  and  then  took  a  good  house  while  I 
was  about  it.  Genevieve  was  now  ready  for 
the  world.  With  her  sister  well  married  she 
would  of  course  have  a  tremendous  advan 
tage  and  would  stay  with  her  a  great  deal  of 
the  time.  If  necessary,  I  would  even  go  into 
debt  a  little  to  get  my  second  daughter  settled. 
I  looked  at  the  jewels  Prolmann  had  given  me. 
At  the  worst  I  could  do  something  with  them. 
If  I  could  marry  Genevieve  well  and  quickly, 
the  two  girls  could  take  care  of  Jane. 

In  watching  families  I  have  noticed  that  the 
first  marriage  usually  settles  the  status  of  a 
family  of  girls.  If  the  first  marries  badly  or 
rests  a  long  time  in  the  family  nest,  it  has  a 
bad  effect  upon  the  prospects  of  the  rest.  Men 
are  apt  to  wonder  if  there  is  something  wrong 
that  has  warned  off  other  men.  They  grow 
suspicious.  And  whatever  we  women  say, 
men  believe  that  an  unmarried  woman  has 
lacked  opportunities,  and  justly  so  gener 
ally. 

If  it  can  be  avoided  it  is  not  well  to  show 
two  marriageable  daughters  at  the  same  time. 


146  'The  Highroad 

Two  hot-house  peaches  are  not  so  rare  as  one 
hot-house  peach.  I  know  that  to  say  this  is  in 
very  bad  taste.  The  romantic  and  those  who 
take  what  they  call  a  "serious"  view  of  mar 
riage  will  call  it  a  vulgar  and  deplorable  state 
ment.  Oh,  I  know  the  patter  of  the  romantic 
and  the  "serious." 

Many,  many  times  have  I  said,  and  saying, 
believed,  the  most  beautiful  and  conventional 
things  concerning  the  relations  of  men  and 
women.  But  here  I  am  allowing  myself  the 
privilege  of  telling  the  truth.  I  have  discov 
ered  that  a  man's  nature  changes  not  at  all  in 
acquiring  a  wife — unless,  perchance,  he  has  a 
very  undisciplined  "nature.  In  that  case  he 
will  make  a  very  bad  husband. 

I  considered  myself  a  model  of  diplomacy 
when  I  was  able  to  secure  Lili  de  Malpierre  as 
one  of  Lucile's  bridesmaids.  Lili's  mother 
was  a  clever  woman — in  some  ways.  She 
believed  the  story  of  our  fortune,  and  believ 
ing  saw  in  Genevieve  a  more  desirable  heiress 
than  Lucile,  for  Lucile  had  not  an  elder  sister 
who  was  the  wife  of  an  English  Lord.  Then 
too  the  Marquise  was  progressive.  France  is 
a  republic,  and  say  what  you  will,  a  title  in  a 
republic  has  not  the  same  value  as  in  a  mon- 


'The  Settling  of  Lucile  147 

archy.  Who  could  say  what  advantage  Lili 
might  not  derive  from  visits  to  England?  The 
Marquise  could  trust  me  to  ward  off  the  inel 
igible.  Added  to  this  were  the  facts  of  the 
independent  nature  of  Lili  which  makes  her 
to-day  one  of  the  most  conspicuous  women  in 
France,  her  fondness  for  Genevieve,  and  her 
determination  to  come. 

Lucile's  wedding  was  a  fairly  brilliant  one. 
The  bad  half-hour  with  Horton  was  over.  I 
actually  made  him  see  Lucile  as  a  rich  girl  to 
the  end,  and  we  went  as  formally  about  settling 
part  of  those  wild  West  Virginia  lands  upon 
her  and  her  children  as  though  they  had  been 
located  in  Kent  and  Surrey.  Lucile  has  two 
nice  little  boys,  and  I  am  fond  of  them,  but 
they  do  not  laugh  up  into  my  eyes  as  Julien 
Malpierre's  children  would  have  laughed. 
Had  I  only  known,  had  I  only  dreamed  of  the 
future,  I  might  have  managed  some  way.  I 
comfort  myself  with  the  reflection  that  it  would 
not  have  been  best  for  Lucile.  She  is  the 
proper  wife  for  Horton.  She  likes  her  life, 
but — I  want  my  darling  little  French  grand 
children  playing  about  the  yellow  and  green 
old  marbles  at  Verriere. 

It  was  at  the  time  of  Lucile's  wedding  that  I 


148  The  Highroad 

first  came  into  contact  with  the  Kensington 
Palace  crowd,  and  some  others. 

Kensington  Palace  and  Hampton  Court  are  a 
sort  of  royal  alms  houses,  places  to  keep  poor 
relations  and  the  widows  and  orphans  of  those 
who  have  a  claim  of  some  sort  upon  the  royal 
family.  The  late  Queen  was  born  at  Kensing 
ton  when  her  parents  were  very  poor  relations, 
and  so  I  believe  was  the  present  Princess  of 
Wales.  At  any  rate,  the  family  of  the  Prin 
cess  May  lived  there  and  it  was  there  that  the 
famous  auction  took  place  which  scattered  so 
many  of  the  royal  heirlooms.  A  red  flag  was 
hung  out  of  the  palace  window  and  the  Tecks 
were  "sold  up"  that  tradesmen  might  be  paid. 
And  I  suppose  the  sons  and  daughters  of  these 
same  tradesmen  tremble  and  shed  tears  when 
they  see  "royalty, "  like  the  rest  of  their 
kind,  and  see  nothing  humorous  in  the  situa 
tion. 

I  have  a  work-table,  once  the  property  of 
Queen  Adelaide,  which  came  from  that  sale. 

There  are  some  frumpy  old  ladies  living  in 
Kensington  Palace  who  are  not  above  taking 
in  "paying  guests."  These  are  often  Ameri 
cans,  who  pay  handsomely  for  the  introductions 
that  come  their  way  through  their  hostesses. 


'The  Settling  of  Lucile  149 

As  Lord  Horton  was  not  to  be  ignored  as  a 
political  factor  and  as  his  family  itself  was 
entitled  to  recognition,  we  of  course  had  a 
sprig  of  royalty  at  the  wedding.  But  Horton 
had  besides  a  second  cousin  who  lived  in  Ken 
sington  Palace,  so  we  were  thoroughly  adver 
tised  in  that  abode  of  court  gossip. 

A  bishop's  widow,  resident  there  at  that 
time,  had  a  California  girl  as  her  guest,  and 
she  arranged  with  Horton's  cousin  that  her 
American  should  receive  an  invitation  to 
Lucile's  wedding. 

I  should  have  had  a  fellow  feeling  for  that 
American  girl,  and  have  done  what  I  could  to 
give  her  a  lift.  Up  to  that  time  the  only  intro 
ductions  she  had  achieved  were  to  the  Princess 
Christian  and  Miss  Marie  Corelli.  But  I  had 
long  ago  made  up  my  mind  that  I  could  not 
stand  one  grain  of  handicap.  Good-nature,  a 
fellow  feeling,  kindness  of  any  sort  were  ex 
pensive  luxuries  which  it  was  impossible  for  me 
to  afford.  And — I  rather  enjoyed  snubbing  that 
girl.  My  mind  ran  ahead.  I  saw  the  possi 
bility  of  her  name  being  cabled  to  America  as 
one  of  the  Americans  at  the  wedding,  and  I 
knew  she  was  a  nobody  or  she  would  not  be 
where  she  was.  I  declined  to  give  any  reason 


150  The  Highroad 

for  refusing  the  invitation,  but  I  refused  it, 
even  in  the  face  of  a  demand  for  it  from  Hor- 
ton's  mother. 

"Poor  Lucia  (the  cousin)  had  promised  this 
invitation,"  Horton's  mother  said.  "Poor 
Mrs.  Beamish  (the  bishop's  widow)  must  live, 
and  if  she  cannot  secure  good  invitations  for 
her  guest  she  will  leave  her.  As  it  is,  they 
have  had  no  desserts  but  milk  puddings  for  two 
years.  Of  course  you  rich  Americans  do  not 
understand  poverty." 

But  I  smiled  and  declined  to  be  moved  even 
by  milk  puddings.  I  wondered  what  Horton's 
mother  would  have  thought  could  she  have 
known  that  "dessert"  was  almost  unknown  to 
my  youth. 

So  Lady  Caulfield  (Horton  is  a  younger  son 
of  Baron  Caulfield),  unable  to  realize  that  I 
could  refuse  her  anything  except  for  some  very 
good  reason,  took  the  usual  Victorian  idea  that 
the  girl's  character  was  not  good,  and  pro 
ceeded  to  drop  a  word  at  Kensington  Palace 
which  sent  her  home  ruined  so  far  as  England 
was  concerned. 

But  there  were  some  Americans  at  the 
wedding.  They  were  New  Yorkers  with 
whose  family  history  I  am  sure  I  was  just  a 


"The  Settling  of  Lucile  1 5 1 

trifle  better  acquainted  than  they  were.  They 
belonged  to  the  rich  new  set  which  was  just  at 
that  time  coming  into  some  vogue.  In  that 
day  the  old  Knickerbocker  families  still  con 
sidered  that  they  led  New  York  society. 
What  a  little  while  ago  that  was!  I  confess 
that  I  was  green  enough  then  to  ignore  the 
certain  rise  into  prominence  of  the  tremen 
dously  wealthy.  Had  I  been  able  to  do  so,  or 
had  it  been  demanded  of  me,  I  should  very 
readily  have  put  myself  on  the  side  of  the  old 
families.  Fortunately  I  had  not  to  choose. 
I  realized  that  to  know  Americans  at  all,  I 
must  be  introduced  somehow.  It  was  very 
easy,  going  about  London  as  the  mother  of 
Lord  Horton's  fiancee,  to  make  what  acquaint 
ances  I  chose  there.  Everybody  by  this  time 
accepted  us  as  enormously  rich  people  who  had 
lived  abroad  for  generations;  Lady  Hastings 
had  arranged  that.  Lucile  and  I  had  week's 
ends  at  the  best  country  houses,  and  many  din 
ners  and  evening  parties  in  London. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  all  these  festivities 
that  I  heard  of  my  father's  death.  Poor 
father!  A  pang  struck  my  heart  as  I  thought 
of  his  loneliness.  I  had  not  even  written  often. 
There  was  so  little  to  say  to  him.  After 


152  *fbe  Highroad 

mother  died  he  had  lived  on  the  farm  all  alone, 
even  doing  his  own  cooking.  He  had  not  a 
relative  in  the  world  that  he  knew,  and  he  and 
mother's  family  were  not  friends.  The  lawyers 
who  had  charge  of  my  property  wrote  after  the 
funeral — sending  the  letter  to  the  bankers. 

For  a  little  while  the  vision  of  good-tem 
pered,  indulgent  "pappy"  sent  me  into  hys 
terical  sobs.  They  had  found  him  one  day 
where  he  had  fallen  by  the  stove,  with  some 
cornmeal  mush  in  a  pan  beside  him.  He  had 
been  dead  a  day.  < 

For  a  little  while  I  was  unreasonable.  It 
seemed  my  fault.  I  was  sure  that  the  gossip 
of  Fowlersburg  would  say  that  it  was  my  fault! 
But  when  I  saw  that  he  had  left  me  almost 
fifty  thousand  dollars  in  this  farm  and  in 
money,  I  knew  that  he  would  simply  be  called 
eccentric. 

The  question  now  was  what  I  was  to  do 
about  the  wedding.  It  seemed  best  to  let  it  go 
on.  Later  I  could  say  that  father  had  known 
of  it,  had  spoken  of  his  illness,  and  begged 
that  nothing  should  stop  it.  I  was  sick  with 
remorse,  I  knew  that  I  should  have  gone  to 
him — had  I  known.  It  hurt  me  with  a  real 
physical  pain.  If  I  had  had  only  myself  to 


'The  Settling  of  Lucile  153 

think  of  how  differently  I  should  have  behaved. 

Madame  Vestrine  and  the  children  did  not 
come  over  until  the  last  minute. 

Lucile's  wedding  dress  was  made  with  a 
simple  long  satin  train  covered  by  a  magnifi 
cent  web  of  a  lace  veil  as  its  chief  feature. 
That  veil  was  hired  from  a  French  house,  and 
it  figured  in  the  descriptions  as  an  heirloom. 
I  believe  that  Lucile  thought  that  it  was  an 
heirloom.  She  asked  me  where  I  had  kept  it 
all  these  years.  I  told  her  that  her  grand 
father  had  sent  it  to  me  with  her  grandmother's 
portrait,  and  I  gave  her  the  idea  that  it  had 
belonged  to  her  grandmother.  Why  not?  If  I 
could  not  produce  it  again  it  could  easily  be 
stolen — as  the  annals  of  the  family  ran  on. 

The  wedding  was  beautiful.  It  was  Decem 
ber,  just  a  little  before  Christmas,  but  the  air 
was  crisp  and  the  sun  bright,  for  London. 
"St.  George's,  Hanover  Square!"  How  many, 
many  times  had  I  read  those  words  in  my 
English  novels  in  the  old  days!  How  many 
times  had  I  thrilled  at  the  thought  of  being 
the  heroine  who  was  married  there!  And  here 
was  my  daughter  being  married  in  St. 
George's,  Hanover  Square,  to  an  English 
Lordl 


154  The  Highroad 

Who  shall  say  that  we  do  not  create  condi 
tions  by  thinking  and  dreaming  of  them?  Cer 
tain  it  is,  and  I  defy  any  to  deny  it,  that  had  I 
never  seen  a  copy  of  the  old  New  York  Ledger 
away  back  in  the  beginning,  and  followed  it 
up  by  Harper's  cheap  editions  and  "Seasides," 
my  daughter  would  never  have  stood  at  the 
altar  in  St.  George's  and  promised  to  love, 
honor  and  obey  a  Lord. 

I  wonder  what  conventional  mothers  think 
about  when  their  daughters  marry.  I  wish  I 
could  have  another  life  in  which  to  feel  the 
reality  of  conventional  living,  conventional 
thinking.  As  it  is,  I  have  never  had  anything 
but  the  shadow.  Behind  the  active  me  is 
always  the  woman  who  must  plan  and  move 
the  springs  by  which  I  move.  I  can  no  more 
"let  myself  go"  than  an  actress  on  the  stage 
can  be  natural.  To  be  natural  is  not  art  in  her 
case,  nor  in  mine.  It  would  bring  the  play  to 
an  end. 

I  am  always  letting  my  imagination  tell  me 
how  the  woman  that  I  seem  to  be  would  feel 
under  certain  circumstances,  and  then  I  try  to 
act  as  though  I  felt  like  that. 

At  Lucile's  wedding  I  was  not  tearful,  but  I 
was  very  serious — and  a  little  wistful.  Mr. 


'The  Settling  of  Lucile  155 

Herbert  gave  the  bride  away.  The  papers  all 
announced  that  "until  the  last  moment"  it  had 
been  expected  that  Prolmann  (by  his  titles) 
would  perform  that  office,  bul  illness  had  pre 
vented.  As  a  matter  of  fact  I  wrote  to  Prol 
mann  and  told  him  that  Lucile  had  asked  that 
he  would  come.  But  he  declined,  and  sent  the 
pearl  necklace. 

I  thought  once  of  having  the  American  Min 
ister.  The  Minister  at  that  time  was  a  man 
whose  father  had  been  a  great  American,  but 
he  had  had  no  training  in  social  usages. 
Everybody  used  him  for  any  purpose,  and  it 
would  have  been  no  trouble  at  all  to  secure 
him  as  an  assistant  at  Lucile's  wedding.  But 
I  wisely  decided  that  he  could  be  no  advan 
tage — like  most  things  easily  acquired. 

As  I  saw  Lucile  come  down  from  the  altar 
on  her  husband's  arm,  I  had  a  touch  of  what 
we  call  sentiment.  Had  it  been  possible  I 
should  have  put  my  head  down  and  cried  like 
a  child.  But  I  knew  better.  I  was  acting  the 
better  bred  mother.  And  all  through  the  after 
ceremonies,  the  breakfast  and  the  going  away, 
I  was  thinking,  thinking,  "Will  Lucile  begin 
right?" 

How  thankful  I  was  that  the  child  had  noth- 


156  The  Highroad 

ing  to  reveal,  for  she  knew  nothing.  She 
could  be  natural,  I  said  to  myself.  And  then — 
I  wondered.  Had  she  forgotten  Julien,  or  did 
his  big  figure  and  sweet  heavy  voice  seem  alive 
about  her?  After  all  she  was  a  woman  now 
and  must  take  up  and  bear  a  woman's  burden — 
which  must  always  be  borne  in  silence  and 
secrecy — if  she  is  a  successful  woman. 


My  Second  Daughter  1157 


XIV 

My  Second  Daughter 

It  was  after  Lucile  had  gone  away  to  Italy 
with  her  husband  that  I  was  invited  to  take 
Genevieve  and  Lili  to  a  week's  end  in  the 
country  to  meet  the  then  Prince  of  Wales  and 
his  wife  and  daughters.  We  were  asked  at  the 
very  last  minute  and  I  never  knew  exactly  why. 

The  Prince  was  in  the  habit  of  naming  the 
guests  he  wished  to  meet,  and  it  was  in  those 
days  his  one  sincere  hope  that  he  might  find 
somebody  who  would  amuse  him.  Now  I  was 
not,  am  not,  and  never  shall  be  amusing.  I 
never  said  a  witty  or  a  clever  thing  in  my 
life.  I  am  not  beautiful,  nor  particularly  well 
dressed.  I  confess  that  I  did  not  want  to  go 
to  that  house  party.  We  could  not  afford  to 
keep  up  in  any  way  with  the  people  who  made 
the  so-called  "Prince  of  Wales  Set,"  nor  I 
confess  did  I  court  the  position  of  belonging 
to  it. 

There  has  been  now  and  then  a  strange  idea 
in  America  that  there  exists  an  English  set 


158  The  Highroad 

that  did  not  care  to  be  friends  with  the  King 
when  he  was  Prince  of  Wales.  There  never 
was  an  Englishman  nor  an  Englishwoman  who 
did  not  always  remember  that  here  was  the 
country's  future  king,  of  necessity  the  very 
head  of  English  society. 

The  strange  idea  came  in  some  manner  from 
the  Duke  of  Richmond's  action  in  once  declin 
ing  to  entertain  the  Royal  party  at  Goodwood. 
I  am  in  no  position  to  know  the  facts  of  that 
affair  nor  is  any  one  else  who  is  at  all  likely  to 
tell  them;  but  the  family  history  of  the  Duke 
of  Richmond  does  not  make  it  likely  that  he 
would  slight  a  king.  Nor  has  he  ever  done  so, 
the  English  people  are  very  sure. 

I  was  nervous  over  this  visit,  and  I  took  my 
self  to  task  because  of  it.  What  was  the  use 
of  all  my  work,  my  ambition,  my  contriving,  if 
I  could  not  meet  the  realization  of  my  hopes, 
fill  the  role  to  which  I  aspired?  I  always  look 
with  contempt  upon  the  women  and  men  who 
"do  not  care  for  society."  They  are  adver 
tising  themselves  as  poor  things,  lacking  in 
some  vital  nerve,  some  sense  of  equality  with 
their  kind,  for  we  never  shun  the  places  where 
we  are  comfortable  and  pur  vanity  is  soothed. 
Nature  is  inexorable,  and  an  understanding  of 


My  Second  Daughter  159 

her  methods  is  philosophy.  The  man  who 
falls  out  of  the  race  for  any  reason  is  simply 
making  way  for  one  stronger  than  he,  one  more 
to  nature's  mind,  and  is  illustrating  the  rule  of 
the  survival  of  the  fittest. 

The  recluse  does  not  realize  that  he  is  simply 
a  discarded  building-stone  in  the  structure  of 
civilization,  who  puts  himself  out  of  the  way, 
not  by  free  will,  but  according  to  a  law, 
because  his  weaknesses  make  him  useless. 

I  discovered  that  the  visiting  with  Royalty 
was  very  simple.  The  Royalties  often  did  not 
appear  until  noon  and  some  days  not  then. 
It  was  at  dinner  and  in  the  evening  that  the 
other  guests  most  often  saw  them,  and  each 
evening  only  a  few  of  us  were  brought  into 
actual  contact  with  them. 

They  were  very  simple  and  unostentatious, 
and  the  Princesses  seemed  almost  anxious  to 
please,  which  is  natural,  as  royalty  exists  in 
England  by  sufferance.  The  then  Princess  of 
Wales  reminded  me,  in  her  evening  dress,  of  a 
mechanical  doll.  She  has  a  high,  affected, 
musical  voice,  a  stiff  figure,  a  painted  face, 
and  a  very  well  made,  light-brown  wig.  She 
sat  on  a  sofa  in  the  center  of  one  of  the  draw 
ing-rooms,  and  said  pleasant  things.  Her  large 


160  The  Highroad 

and  truly  beautiful  eyes  give  the  only  expres 
sion  to  a  face  from  which  every  line  has  been 
eliminated  by  stretching  the  skin.  A  frown  is 
a  physical  impossibility  to  her,  which  sounds 
like  the  story  of  a  gift  to  a  princess  from  a  fairy 
godmother  instead  a  "plastic  surgeon."  Roy 
alty  comes  too  near  to  us  in  these  days.  Who 
knows?  that  long-ago  princess  who  couldn't 
laugh,  and  inspired  so  many  romantic  folk-tales 
of  poor  young  adventurers  who  broke  the  curse 
and  ascended  the  throne,  may  have  had  a  sim 
ple  paralysis  of  the  facial  muscles! 

They  have  some  pathetic  reserves,  these 
poor  figureheads.  One  day  our  hostess 
brought  out  an  album  to  show  the  Princess  of 
Wales.  It  was  silver  bound  and  carefully 
locked.  It  contained  "private  photographs" 
of  the  royal  family.  In  other  days,  when  his 
sovereign  wished  to  compliment  a  subject,  he 
sent  for  the  best  painter  in  the  country  and 
ordered  a  portrait  for  his  friend.  The  walls  of 
this  very  house  held  portraits  of  sovereigns 
from  Queen  Elizabeth  down  to  the  end  of  the 
Stuart  line.  In  those  days  a  good  portrait  cost 
about  ten  pounds.  Nowadays,  except  in  rare 
instances,  the  best  Victoria's  family  can  do  is 
to  offer  a  "private  photograph,"  one  which  the 


My  Second  Daughter  161 

public  has  not  been  allowed  to  see.  The 
young  princesses  were  tremendously  amused  by 
this  collection  and  spent  a  whole  evening  over 
it;  but  the  Princess  of  Wales,  to  the  visible 
annoyance  of  her  hostess,  slipped  out  two  or 
three  of  her  own  old  photographs.  "You  will 
give  me  these,  will  you  not?"  she  said  sweetly. 
"I  have  no  duplicates."  I  did  not  see  them, 
but  I  heard  two  women  laughing  a  little  later; 
"They  had  looped-up  skirts  and  showed  her 
feet.  She  has  destroyed  almost  all  of  them. 
They  are  awful." 

"The  Princess  should  have  busts  made  of 
herself,  like  those  of  the  ancient  Roman 
ladies,"  Colonel  Cameron  said  to  them. 
"They  had  a  sort  of  marble  wig  that  could  be 
changed  with  the  fashions." 

"A  very  good  idea,  but  you  made  it  up  in 
this  instant,"  one  of  the  women  said. 

"I  did  not.  I  saw  them  in  the  British 
Museum." 

"I  have  never  been  there,"  one  of  the 
women  said  smartly,  "I  never  have  occasion 
for  clandestine  interviews.  I  shall  keep  a 
watch  on  any  friend  of  mine  who  knows  about 
those  Roman  ladies." 

This  Colonel  Cameron  was  a  close  friend  of 


1 62  'The  Highroad 

the  Prince,  and  a  man  whose  vicinity  I  found 
vaguely  unpleasant. 

We  were  presented  to  the  Prince  the  first 
evening.  He  said  some  polite  things  to  us  and 
graciously  remembered  Lili's  parents.  I  think 
he  was  disappointed  in  me.  I  was  so  common 
place.  He  had  looked  at  me  with  some  curi 
osity,  and  said  rather  bluntly  that  he  was 
surprised  to  see  Horton's  mother-in-law  so 
young.  He  asked  me  a  question  or  two  about 
Prolmann,  showing  that  he  had  heard  our  so- 
called  history.  Prolmann  had  entertained  him 
once  on  his  Hungarian  estate  long  years 
before. 

The  Prince  found  the  girls  more  amusing, 
although  generally  girls  bore  him  after  he  has 
given  them  a  little  of  that  patronizing  advice 
which,  like  all  men  of  his  type,  he  prefaces 
with  "My  dear."  The  Prince  at  this  time  had 
the  boldest  eyes  I  ever  saw.  He  is  a  short, 
stout  man,  with  a  thick  German  tongue  in 
speaking,  and  it  must  be  confessed  in  eating 
also.  Genevieve  made  me  nervous.  Had 
Genevieve  been  brought  up  differently,  she 
would  have  made  a  most  attractive  milliners' 
saleswoman.  I  never  deceive  myself,  and  she 
always  reminds  me  of  a  superior  sort  of  shop 


My  Second  Daughter  163 

girl.  She  has  the  same  haughty  manner,  style 
in  dress  and  undercurrent  of  blague.  Her 
waist  (that  was  before  the  day  of  "straight 
fronts")  was  seventeen  inches  around,  and  her 
shoulders  were  forty.  Naturally,  her  dress  was 
as  simple  as  white  muslin  could  be  made,  and 
her  slippers  were  even  bowless,  but  she  looked 
like  .  a  fashion-plate,  or  an  illustration  by 
"Mars." 

Before  I  had  been  in  that  house  twenty-four 
hours  I  knew  that  between  her  and  Lili  I 
should  have  my  hands  full. 

I  have  no  idea  what  they  talked  about  to  the 
men  who  found  their  society  so  absorbing;  I 
only  know  that  the  subject  was  obviously 
changed  whenever  I  came  within  hearing  dis 
tance.  It  was  Colonel  Cameron  who  fright 
ened  me.  He  was  the  middle-aged  heir  to  a 
Dukedom,  a  man  who  had  married  an  heiress 
when  he  was  barely  twenty-one,  and  had  since 
used  his  opportunities.  He  followed  Gene- 
vieve  about  from  morning  until  night,  but  in 
such  a  way  that  I  could  formulate  no  objec 
tions,  even  to  Genevieve.  This  was  not  the 
society,  nor  were  mine  the  methods  which  said, 
"Beware  of  a  married  man."  If  Genevieve 
could  not  be  trusted  to  think  of  a  man  except 


164  I'be  Highroad 

as  a  possible  husband,  it  were  better  to  send 
her  back  to  West  Virginia,  where  they  are  still 
in  that  era. 

But  I  was  afraid.  I  did  not  want  my  peach 
handled,  although  this  one  had  not  the  reti 
cence  and  bloom  of  innocence  which  had  made 
Lucile's  charm.  As  for  Lili,  she  was  past  my 
control  altogether.  She  smoked  cigarettes 
openly  at  tea  time,  and  discussed  Anatole 
France's  latest  novel  with  the  old  Duchess  of 
Lawrence.  She  ridiculed  his  knowledge  of  real 
French  society,  calmly  contradicting  the 
Duchess  when  her  argument  demanded. 

"I  have  not  visited  in  France  for  twenty 
years,"  the  Duchess  said.  "I  remember  your 
grandfather.  A  charming  man." 

"Society  has  changed  since  then,"  Lili  said, 
putting  one  slender  arm  behind  her  head  and 
lolling  in  the  deep  velvet  chair  she  had  chosen. 
One  might  have  imagined  from  her  assurance 
that  she  had  known  all  about  the  life  of  that 
day,  instead  of  being  unborn.  "Even  in  the 
old  nobility  there  is  a  respect  for  money,  which 
we  have  learned  from  you  money-mad  English. 
Papa  married  for  money,  you  know,  and  I  can 
not  say  I  am  sorry.  It  saves  me  the  annoyance 
of  doing  so." 


My  Second  Daughter  165 

"And  you,  I  suppose,  you  young  girl  of  the 
convent,  will  marry  for  love?"  the  Duchess 
asked  with  some  sarcasm. 

"I  shall  not  marry  at  all,"  Lili  said  non 
chalantly. 

Now  these  new  ideas  might  do  for  Lili,  but 
I  could  not  afford  them  for  Genevieve,  and  as 
soon  as  we  were  again  in  London,  I  arranged 
for  Lili's  return  to  her  mother.  She  and  Gene 
vieve  arranged,  I  vaguely  understood,  finally 
to  have  an  establishment  in  Paris  where  they 
were  to  live  together  in  the  utmost  freedom, 
entertaining  what  they  called  "interesting 
people,"  who  were,  so  far  as  I  made  out,  any 
body  who  had  been  talked  about.  Poor  young 
fools!  They  were  grievously  disappointed  that 
the  Prince  was  only  a  fat,  bold-eyed,  oldish 
man.  I  think  he  had  stood  high  on  their  list 
before  that  visit. 

There  was  nothing  subtle  about  Genevieve. 
All  her  goods  were  in  the  window.  She  morti 
fied  me.  Much  prettier  and  showier  than 
Lucile,  I  could  make  no  effects  with  her.  She 
would  never  attract  a  conservative  Englishman 
like  Horton.  I  had  cherished  some  hope  that  the 
rather  fast  stupid  young  eldest  son  of  some 
noble  family  might  be  taken  by  her  as  he 


1 66  'The  Highroad 

might  have  been  taken — as  so  many  of  them 
are — by  a  music  hall  singer  or  an  actress.  And 
I  found  that  they  were  attracted  at  first  by  that 
curious  atmosphere  of  sex  which  women  like 
Genevieve  throw -about  them,  but  they  were 
stupid  in  her  eyes,  and  she  would  have  none 
of  them.  She  wanted  the  hero  of  a  French 
novel,  and  the  nearest  approach  to  it  that  she 
had  seen  was  Colonel  Cameron.  His  face 
was  pale,  his  eyes  brilliant,  and  his  upcurled 
and  pointed  mustache  showed  large  sound 
teeth. 

His  wife  and  the  Duchess  of  Lawrence  left 
cards  when  we  were  all  returned  to  town.  The 
Duchess  of  Lawrence  had  spent  the  early 
years  of  her  married  life  going  about  from  one 
court  to  another,  while  her  husband  went  in  the 
other  direction.  And  then,  tired  out,  they  had 
come  home  in  middle  age  to  discover,  seem 
ingly  to  their  surprise,  that  their  youth  was 
gone  and  there  was  no  heir  except  the  son  of 
a  cousin. 

"All  of  us  are  prone  to  overlook  some  de 
tail,"  the  Duke  is  said  to  have  remarked  to  a 
friend.  "And,  come  to  think  of  it,  I  believe 
I'd  as  soon  an  enemy  inherited  my  debts." 

Cameron  had  married  an  heiress  who  wanted 


My  Second  Daughter  167 

to  be  a  Duchess.  He  awaited  the  title  with 
equanimity,  going  his  devious  ways,  very  sure 
that  so  long  as  he  was  a  prospective  duke  his 
wife  would  never  divorce  him. 

A  month  later,  a  little  after  the  New  Year,  I 
went  to  Genevieve's  bed-room  after  she  was 
supposed  to  have  gone  to  bed.  It  was  not  a 
habit  of  mine,  but  that  evening  we  had  been 
rather  dull  at  home  and  had  retired  early.  I 
remembered  something  I  wanted  to  say  to  her 
concerning  our  plans  for  the  next  day. 

Jane  and  Robert  had  gone  back  to  school.  I 
would  have  kept  Jane  in  London,  but  the  rates 
which  I  paid  at  Paris  in  the  beginning  still 
held,  and  necessarily  I  could  get  nothing  as 
advantageous  in  England. 

Robert  was  a  manly  boy  now,  not  too  tall, 
but  broad  and  square,  with  a  clean,  frank, 
well-bred  face.  He  had  naturally  courteous 
manners.  Madame  Vestrine  was  in  love  with 
the  boy,  and  decided  to  spend  the  winter  in 
Switzerland  to  be  near  him. 

Genevieve  and  I  were  alone  in  the  London 
house. 

When  I  opened  Genevieve's  door  I  saw  that 
she  was  not  there.  The  bed  was  untouched, 
and  a  wrap  or  two  was  thrown  hastily  aside  as 


1 68  The  Highroad 

though  she  had  tried  two  or  three  before  she 
had  found  one  to  her  mind. 

I  had  met  with  some  difficulty  in  opening  the 
door,  as  it  was  locked.  It  was  only  after  I  had 
knocked  and  called  and  felt  my  heart  stand 
still  at  no  response  that  I  remembered  the 
housekeeper's  keys  (I  was  the  housekeeper 
here  now)  and  opened  the  door  with  one  from 
that  bunch. 

Genevieve  had  very  plainly  gone  out.  No 
body  will  ever  know  what  I  felt  then.  I  have 
no  ability  to  express  the  feeling  that  went 
over  me.  I  hardly  expected  her  to  return,  and 
except  for  the  wreck  and  ruin  it  would  have 
been  for  all  of  us,  I  would  have  wished  that 
she  might  never  come  back.  Could  I  have 
wished  her  dead  and  buried,  how  gladly  I 
would  have  done  so.  How  I  despised  her,  and 
how  I  pitied  her!  I  remembered  her  as  a  little 
chubby  red  and  white  baby  whose  gay  laugh 
and  romping  ways  made  her  her  father's  dar 
ling.  How  little  she  knew!  what  a  fool  she 
was! 

I  knew  that  she  had  gone  out  with  Cameron. 
A  sudden  thought  sent  me  to  the  box  where 
we  kept  the  latch  key.  It  was  gone.  Then 
she  intended  to  come  back. 


My  Second  Daughter  169 

I  detest  scenes,  and  I  do  not  know  how  to 
manage  them.  I  went  into  my  own  room,  put 
the  door  ajar  and  waited  for  my  child  to  come 
home. 

She  came  in,  stealing  up  the  stairs  in  the 
dark,  and  slipped  into  the  corridor  which  led 
to  her  own  apartments.  The  door  of  her  bed 
room  was  locked  as  she  had  left  it.  I  heard  it 
close  and  then  I  went  to  bed. 

The  next  morning  I  engaged  passage  from 
Liverpool  for  the  following  week.  I  told 
Genevieve  that  I  was  going  to  put  Robert  in  an 
American  college  next  year,  and  thought  it 
well  to  have  him  prepare  for  his  entrance  the 
next  autumn.  He  came  hastily  from  Switzer 
land,  and  we  started  for  New  York. 


170  'The  Highroad 


XV 

We  Return  to  America 

I  came  up  New  York  bay  with  mixed  emo 
tions.  If  I  had  made  my  way  in  England  and 
France,  I  kept  reminding  myself,  I  should 
have  no  difficulty  in  conquering  here.  But 
underneath  the  bravado  by  which  I  endeavored 
to  keep  up  my  own  spirit  was  an  undercurrent 
of  doubt.  Here  Prolmann  could  only  be  a 
serious  disadvantage;  here  I  was  practically 
stripped  of  my  wonderful  estates  in  Virginia, 
but  here,  I  said  to  myself,  I  was  Lady  Hor- 
ton's  mother.  The  Americans  I  had  met  in 
London  had  let  me  see  that  that  was  fairly 
potent,  at  least  over  there.  But  what  would  it 
do  for  me  here?  I  knew  that  there  were 
people  who  had  been  graciously  received  even 
by  Victoria  who  were  not  received  in  the  New 
York  set  for  which  I  was  ambitious.  I  could 
not  imagine,  either,  that  the  mother  of  the 

Duchesse  de  B was  received  in  New  York. 

And  I  had  almost  no  money. 

We  went  at  once  to  a  small  hotel  on  Union 


We  Return  to  America   ,          171 

Square,  which  we  had  heard  of  as  the  stopping- 
place  of  some  English  people.  And  even 
there  we  could  not  afford  to  stay  long.  We 
must  get  something  "quieter"  which  would 
yet  have  the  appearance  of  choice  instead  of 
necessity. 

It  was  a  terrible  March  day  when  we  landed. 
The  dirt  in  the  unclean  streets  was  blowing  in 
clouds.  The  sharp  clear  air  was  as  unbecoming 
as  the  light  from  a  hospital  window.  I  looked 
at  my  children,  and  my  boy  seemed  raw  and 
commonplace  and  my  girl  entirely  vulgar. 

It  was  one  of  the  few  times  in  my  life  when 
I  lost  heart,  when  the  struggle  seemed  impos 
sible.  All  my  plans  turned  tawdry  and  trans 
parent.  How  I  wanted  help!  How  I  wanted 
to  turn  to  my  children  and  say,  "Help  me!  I 
am  doing  everything  I  can  for  you.  We  must 
work  together  to  keep  up  appearances,  to  be 
able  to  go  along  at  all."  But  my  common 
sense  told  me  the  absurd  folly  of  that.  If 
either  of  them  had  known  that  keeping  up  ap 
pearances  was  what  we  were  doing  they  would 
have  lost  the  ability  to  do  it. 

They  did  know,  of  course,  that  our  income 
was  limited  and  that  they  could  not  spend 
much  money,  but  their  training  had  taught 


1 72  fhe  Highroad 

them  that  it  was  no  disgrace,  simply  a  tem 
porary  inconvenience  in  their  case,  not  to  be 
spoken  of  purely  for  financial  reasons. 

I  had  come  to  America  before  I  desired  to, 
absolutely  forced  here  by  Genevieve.  Later 
we  might  have  come  as  guests  on  somebody's 
yacht  and  made  our  first  appearance  at  New 
port.  I  thought  of  all  these  things.  I  wished 
that  I  had  put  Genevieve  back  into  the  con 
vent  while  I  brought  Robert  over.  I  wished 
that  I  had  done  everything  but  what  I  had 
done.  Dozens  of  times  I  have  dreamed  of 
finding  myself  at  entertainments  in  my  night 
clothes.  Well,  that  March  morning  in  New 
York  I  had  exactly  the  same  feeling.  How  I 
wished  I  had  stayed  in  Europe! 

Robert  was  polite  and  Genevieve  was  sullen. 
She  sneered  at  the  hotel,  she  sneered  at  the 
profusion  of  American  food.  She  listened  with 
contemptuous  ears  to  the  American  voices  in 
the  hotel  dining-room,  and  viewed  with  dis 
dainful  eyes  the  garments  upon  the  speakers. 
I  must  confess  that  the  voices  distressed  me. 
For  the  first  time  I  understood  what  foreigners 
mean  by  our  nasal  voices. 

We  walked  up  Fifth  Avenue  the  second  day, 
the  dirt  whirling  into  our  faces,  and  then  we 


We  Return  to  America  173 

crossed  over  into  famous  Broadway.  I  wonder 
if  there  is  anybody  else  who  remembers  the 
Fifth  Avenue  and  Broadway  of  only  a  few 
years  ago?  To  us,  aliens,  without  a  tie  in 
America,  setting  our  feet  for  the  first  time  in 
New  York,  it  seemed  on  the  surface  ridiculous 
to  have  come.  And  had  I  lived  only  from  day 
to  day,  taking  what  came  to  me,  had  I  been  the 
woman  I  was  when  I  went  to  Europe,  I  should 
have  turned  and  left  it,  so  little  did  it  seem 
worth  while.  And  yet  I  knew  that  this  was 
America,  and  we  were  Americans.  Never 
could  our  position  be  sound  before  the  world 
until  this  was  conquered.  A  nobody  in  his  own 
land  is  a  nobody  in  all  the  world.  And  my 
boy  must  make  his  own  life.  If  he  were  to 
marry  a  rich  wife  and  achieve  riches  in  that 
way,  which  I  confess  was  the  best  I  hoped  for, 
it  must  be  an  American  wife.  No  rich  woman 
of  any  position  in  any  other  country  would 
consider  him  for  an  instant.  But  to  do  that 
he  must  have  some  place  in  the  world,  some 
thing  to  stand  upon.  I  had  given  his  career  a 
good  deal  of  thought.  The  church  and  medi 
cine  were  the  only  professions  which  I  thought 
possible  for  him.  I  laughed  at  my  own 
thoughts  sometimes  as  I  lay  in  my  bed  at 


174  The  Highroad 


night.  I  imagined  myself  as  the  tactful  mother 
of  a  parish,  hunting  through  old  books  for  ser 
mons  to  rewrite.  Robert  could  have  written  an 
average  sermon,  neat  and  didactic,  but  that 
never  would  have  satisfied  me.  Still  I  feared  I 
should  have  trouble  to  induce  him  to  let  me 
lead  him  into  the  church.  I  was  sure  as  I 
looked  into  his  handsome  sunny  face,  unaggres- 
sive,  agreeable,  a  little  slow,  much  like  my 
mother's,  that  he  would  make  a  successful 
physician.  He  would  bolster  up  his  patients' 
spirits,  -employ  a  good  nurse,  and  let  nature 
alone.  But  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  over  its 
disagreeable  features,  and  sweetly  asked  to  be 
given  other  work  to  do. 

"My  son,"  I  asked,  "what  do  you  want  to 
do?" 

He  laughed  easily  and  bowed  in  a  little 
foreign  fashion  that  he  had  learned  from  Prol- 
mann. 

"My  dear  mamma,"  he  said  in  French,  "I 
would  be  a  duke." 

"But,  alas,"  I  returned,  "I  am  not  a  fairy 
godmother." 

To  my  amazement  his  frank  eyes  took  on  a 
suddenly  shrewd  expression.  He  looked  at 
me  with  almost  a  beam  of  real  intelligence,  of 


We  Return  to  America  175 

understanding.  "That  is  not  so  sure,"  he 
sard. 

For  an  instant  fright  possessed  me.  Was  it 
possible  that  he  knew,  could  see,  could  under 
stand  all  I  had  done?  Had  that  beam  rested  in 
his  eyes  an  instant  longer,  perhaps  I  should 
have  broken  down  the  wall  between  us.  But  a 
second  later  it  had  disappeared  and  I  could  not 
convince  myself  that  it  had  ever  been  there. 

"You  have  always  indulged  us  in  our  de 
sires,"  he  said  in  a  commonplace  polite 
manner. 

I  took  him  over  to  Boston  and  put  him 
under  a  tutor  to  prepare  for  Harvard  the  next 
year.  I  found  that  he  could  enter  as  a  sopho 
more,  and  that  he  was  unusually  well  grounded, 
particularly  in  languages.  I  left  him  then, 
having  given  no  sign  that  he  was  preparing  to 
be  anything  but  a  duke. 


ij6  'The  Highroad 


XVI 

We  Look  About  Us. 

New  York  had  no  literature,  as  England  and 
France  have,  to  teach  me  the  habits  and  ways 
of  the  people  with  whom  I  wished  to  associate. 
Of  course  New  York  supposed  itself  then,  and 
supposes  itself  now,  to  be  exactly  like  London. 
But  this  is  not  altogether  true.  There  has 
never  been  a  novelist  who  has  thoroughly  pic 
tured  American  society,  so  that  you  may  use 
the  record  for  a  guide-book  to  find  your  way 
about. 

There  are  one  or  two  women  who  belong  to 
what  is  known  as  society  who  write,  but  they 
color  their  narratives  with  personal  feeling. 
Most  of  the  stories  of  society  are  written  by 
young  men  and  women  whose  imagination  is 
whetted  by  the  sight  of  carriages  on  Fifth 
Avenue  and  the  possession  of  an  admission 
ticket  to  the  horse  show.  Sometimes  they  secure 
an  opportunity  to  see  the  inside  of  a  million 
aire's  house,  for  most  of  them  are  reporters  on 
the  papers.  As  smart  society  is  fundamentally 


We  Look  About  Us  177 

like  any  other,  human  nature  being  exactly  the 
same  everywhere,  they  cannot  make  tremen 
dous  mistakes  except  in  detail.  People  eat, 
sleep,  quarrel,  make  up,  lie  and  cry,  whether 
they  are  Esquimaux  or  Americans,  and  they  are 
moved  by  ambition,  envy,  spite,  avarice  or 
passion  on  Central  Park  East  and  Henry  Street. 
But  few  of  these  stories  had  been  written 
then.  Mrs.  Burton  Harrison  and  Mr.  Edgar 
Fawcett  were  about  all  I  had.  I  have  often 
wondered  if  Mrs.  Harrison  ever  suspected  that 
the  great  vogue  of  her  "Anglomaniacs"  was 
due  to  the  desire  on  the  part  of  outsiders  to 
know  about  the  "real  thing."  Mr.  Clyde 
Fitch,  even,  had  not  risen  to  show  that  the 
"smart  set"  is  made  of  paper.  I  believe  the 
out-of-town  people  who  make  up  the  greater 
part  of  our  theater  audiences  believe  Mr.  Fitch 
to  know  all  about  the  people  he  depicts.  He 
probably  does,  but  they  are  not  New  York's 
society  people  at  all.  Nor  is  Mr.  Richard 
Harding  Davis  in  a  position  to  tell  us  how  to 
behave  in  the  houses  of  smartness.  As  with 
the  rest  of  them,  the  jargon  of  the  class  that 
seems — only  seems — to  be  living  simply  for 
amusement  is  not  my  mother  tongue;  but  I 
have  gone  a  little  below  the  skin  of  "society" 


1 78  The  Highroad 

in  New  York.  I  have  a  son-in-law,  whom  I 
know  well,  who  was  born  in  that  class.  I  have 
a  daughter-in-law  who  is  an  amiable,  rather 
domestic  woman,  -who  has  known  no  other 
class  and  who  has  never  discovered  that  her 
husband  is  a  parvenu.  And  I  have  learned  the 
rules  with  the  care  with  which  one  studies  a 
foreign  language. 

Yellow  journals  to  the  contrary,  the  "so 
ciety"  class  of  New  York  is  not  made  up  of 
butterflies  entirely.  The  flower  garden  of 
pleasure  attracts  butterflies,  but  they  only  live 
a  few  days  at  the  best,  and  they  never  truly 
play  the  game.  No,  it  isn't  all  amusement. 
It  is  the  eternal  struggle  to  have  the  best. 

Philosophers,  men  who  sit  in  college  li 
braries,  novelists  who  were  brought  up  on 
Ohio  farms,  descendants  of  Puritan  families 
that  failed  to  take  and  keep  the  lead  in  the 
colony,  the  editorial  writer  who  wants  to  sell 
the  workingman  his  penny  paper,  and  the  sheep 
who  follow  the  last  speaker,  may  cry  out  at  the 
thought  of  the  society  man  or  woman  having  or 
seeking  for  the  best.  When  you  ask  those  teach 
ers  what  the  best  is,  they  give  you  answers  ac 
cording  to  their  minds.  But  what  are  they  all 
struggling  for?  To  be  free  to  go  where  they 


We  Look  About  Us  179 

please,  to  see  what  the  world  has  to  offer,  and 
to  reach  out  their  hands  and  take  what  they 
want  of  it.  They  all  agree  that  that  is  what 
they  want.  (Maeterlinck  has  shown  us  how  low 
our  ideals  are,  how  selfish,  compared  even  with 
the  bees,  but  it  does  not  make  us  less  selfish  to 
deny  the  fact.)  Who  gets  that  opportunity 
except  the  people  who  make  and  keep  money, 
the  people  whose  manners  are  polished  until 
they  do  not  offend,  who  have  a  free  masonry 
of  fair  play  in  social  intercourse?  Whatever 
lies  are  told,  those  are  the  necessities  of  a  per 
manent  social  position. 

Some  of  the  "sociologists"  will  indignantly 
deny  that  this  is  what  they  want.  They  say  that 
they  want  to  "uplift  mankind."  To  what  do 
they  want  to  lift  him?  To  what  does  he  want 
to  be  lifted?  I  will  tell  you,  because  he  can 
only  feel.  To  be  free  to  go  where  he  pleases, 
to  see  what  the  world  has  to  offer  and  to  reach 
out  his  hand  and  take  what  he  wants  of  it. 
The  clever  ones  learn  that  it  can  come  only 
through  wealth  and  civilization,  through  so 
ciety.  How  many  heads  of  the  families  who 
make  the  real  "smart  set"  in  New  York  are 
not  superior  men? 

Suppose  they  do  play.     How  many  of  the 


180  The  Highroad 

great  middle  class  would  love  to  break  the 
stupid  monotony  of  their  lives  by  playing  if 
they  only  knew  how!  Did  you  ever  see  a  man 
or  woman,  who  was  not  a  fool,  who  did  not 
respond  to  gaiety?  If  you  think  the  "smart 
set"  is  all  play  you  are  much  mistaken,  and 
show  that  you  have  only  seen  it  from  the  out 
side. 

It,  too,  has  its  fools,  its  wickedness,  its 
absurdities,  being  purely  human. 

It  was  with  one  of  its  women,  a  woman  born 
in  it,  whose  nature  was  sweet  but  inclined  to 
folly,  that  my  lot  was  cast  for  a  little. 

I  spent  some  time  looking  for  an  apartment. 
A  hotel  was  too  expensive.  And  of  course  a 
boarding-house,  where  we  should  be  obliged  to 
meet  all  sorts  of  curiosities  and  become  known 
to  them,  was  quite  out  of  the  question. 

I  finally  discovered  an  apartment  house 
which  had  all  of  my  requirements.  It  was  in  a 
quiet  street,  was  owned  by  a  woman  who  had 
imbibed  some  of  the  "art  ideas"  which  had 
been  gradually  making  their  way  in  America 
since  the  "Centennial  Year,"  and  had  con 
verted  her  old  home  into  apartments.  She  had 
succeeded  in  turning  out  something  which  to 
the  American  idea  was  "French,"  although  I 


We  Look  About  Us  181 

never  saw  anything  in  France  like  it.  The  old- 
fashioned  brownstone  steps  had  been  taken 
away  and  a  portico  built  over  the  basement 
door,  which  became  the  rez-de-chauss^e.  The 
strip  in  front  was  asphalted,  and  a  high  iron 
fence  separated  it  from  the  street.  Balconies 
and  latticed  bow  windows  were  thrown  out  at 
the  front  and  back  of  the  house  and  the  walls 
of  the  rooms  wainscoted.  Open  fire-places 
with  brass  fittings  and  high  colonial  mantle- 
pieces  were  put  in  as  a  compensation  for  dark 
middle  rooms  and  tin  bath-tubs. 

I  was  fortunate  in  securing  a  furnished  apart 
ment  here,  which  we  made  tasteful  by  the  dra 
peries  and  knick-knacks  we  had  brought  with 
us.  We  paid  one  hundred  and  thirty  dollars  a 
month  for  it. 

I  was  actually  so  ignorant  of  New  York  ways 
that  I  did  not  know  how  foolish  I  was  to  rent  a 
furnished  apartment  in  April.  To  my  mind 
New  York  was  in  the  north  and  consequently 
cool,  and  I  did  not  realize  that  the  whole 
world  of  people  whom  I  wished  to  know  was 
already  away  or  going.  I  discovered  this  after 
I  had  settled  and  sent  my  cards  to  the  Ameri 
cans  I  knew.  Not  one  of  them  was  in  town. 

There  was  not  so  much  to  amuse  one  in  New 


1 82  'The  Highroad 

York  as  there  is  now.  There  were  not  so  many 
theaters  and  those  that  were  open  were  not  lively. 
When  1  look  back  upon  the  audiences  of  those 
days  it  is  with  a  smile.  Every  woman  wore  a 
hat,  and  she  was  not  far  from  the  black  silk 
era.  One  of  the  pretty  evening  frocks  which 
are  so  common  in  our  audiences  now  would 
have  created  a  sensation  and  usurped  the  atten 
tion  usually  given  to  the  stage. 

We  found  it  terribly  dull,  and  Genevieve 
was  at  no  .pains  to  conceal  her  disgust.  I  think 
that  I  was  in  danger  of  losing  all  hold  of  her 
at  this  time.  She  would  have  been  quite 
capable  of  finding  the  money  in  some  fashion 
and  buying  a  ticket  back  to  England  had  a 
diversion  not  arrived. 

I  came  home  one  day,  warm,  tired,  fancying 
that  my  judgment  was  a  thing  of  the  past;  it 
had  seemed  to  desert  me  lately.  I  wondered  if 
I  could  touch  Genevieve's  heart  by  letting  her 
see  that  I  loved  her.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
here  was  the  place  for  me  to  "show  my  heart." 
In  a  novel  she  would  have  found  me  some  day 
with  "a  look  in  my  eyes"  which  would  have 
"broken  down  reserves"  between  us.  We 
should  have  been  mother  and  child.  Her 
heart  would  have  softened  to  me. 


We  Look  About  Us  183 

Those  are -the  climaxes  of  imaginary  stories. 
The  magazines  teem  with  them.  I  wonder  if 
the  people  who  write  them  ever  knew  people 
like  that.  I  used  sometimes  to  think  that  I 
might  do  that  if  it  ever  seemed  expedient — 
until  I  saw  Genevieve  again.  It  was  in  me  to 
pretend  to  be  sentimental,  but  I  realized  when 
I  faced  her  that  never  for  an  instant  was  it  in 
Genevieve. 

I  came  home  this  afternoon  and  wearily 
climbed  the  narrow  gas-lighted  stairs  that  led 
to  our  apartment.  The  art  burlap  on  the  wall 
and  the  thoroughly  original  treatment  of  the 
niche  on  the  turn  of  the  stairs  which  marks 
every  old  New  York  house,  did  not  compensate 
me  for  an  elevator  this  day.  I  was  physically 
and  mentally  tired — and  realized  that  we  had 
spent  too  much  money.  We  had  spent  so 
much  that  it  was  going  to  be  impossible  for  us 
to  go  away  properly  for  the  summer  without 
danger  to  our  capital.  What  a  bad  manager  I 
had  shown  myself!  All  at  once  a  thought 
struck  me.  Had  I  passed  the  climax  of  my 
powers?  With  chills  running  over  my  shoul 
ders  and  tingling  along  the  backs  of  my  hands, 
I  remembered  my  kinfolk.  My  mother  was  an 
old  woman  at  thirty-five.  All  ill-bred  things 


184  The  Highroad 

grow  old  early.  It  is  a  law.  It  is  the  sure 
mark  of  inferiority.  And  as  we  grow  old  we 
return  to  our  race — to  its  characteristics. 

Was  I  going  to  become  one  of  those  silent, 
wizened  women,  going  through  the  tread-mill 
of  existence,  never  thinking,  marching  to  the 
end  of  life  in  a  tired  indifference?  My  aunts,  my 
mother's  sisters,  and  my  cousins  passed  before 
me.  I  felt  for  that  moment  as  Dryope  must 
have  felt  when  she  knew  herself  turning  into  a 
tree,  the  bark  growing  stiff  about  her;  only 
instead  of  weeping  I  wanted  to  shriek  a  pro 
test,  to  push  the  enlacing  bark  aside.  With  an 
effort  of  will  I  ceased  to  plod  wearily  up  the 
stairs  and  went  up  like  a  girl,  bounding  into 
the  "hall"  of  our  apartment  (which  was  a  con 
verted  hall  bed-room). 

I  had  put  on  a  pretty  little  pearl  gown  that 
morning  and  a  toque  of  violets,  and  as  it  was 
the  day  of  dowdy  street  dressing  in  New  York, 
had  felt  myself  ridiculous  in  my  simple  Paris 
frock  as  I  saw  the  looks  of  the  fat  women  I 
passed.  But  I  met  a  different  glance  now. 

As  I  entered  two  young  men  arose.  They 
had  been  sitting  together  on  a  couch  facing 
Genevieve,  the  lattices  of  the  bay-window 
behind  them.  One  of  them  was  so  magnifi- 


We  Look  About  Us  185 

cent  that  he  left  the  other  colorless  and  insig 
nificant. 

When  I  think  of  the  good-looking  men  I  have 
known  in  my  life,  my  mind  always  goes  back 
to  Chester  Ward  as  not  only  the  handsomest 
man  but  the  most  absolutely  beautiful  human 
being  I  ever  saw.  His  mother  told  me  once 
that  she  had  heard  the  old  tale  of  ./Esop's  wife 
and  had  marked  her  child  with  beauty,  and  she 
showed  me  the  engraving  which  she  had  kept 
ever  facing  her  eyes  before  Chester's  birth. 
It  was  a  banal  portrait  of  Wilkes  Booth!  But 
surely  the  gods  themselves  had  waited  on  the 
marking  of  Chester.  He  had  the  form  of 
Apollo  and  the  ox  eyes  of  Juno. 

I  knew  him  at  once,  although  when  I  had 
last  seen  him  he  was  a  lank,  curly-haired  boy, 
bringing  in  wood  and  water  for  his  mother, 
who  had  lived  next  door  to  us  in  Fowlersburg. 
In  my  surprise  at  seeing  him  and  asking  how 
he  had  found  us  I  almost  forgot  the  small 
square  clever-eyed  young  man  who  waited 
politely  by  his  side. 

He  was  presently  introduced  to  me  as  Mr. 
Babcock,  a  college  friend  of  Chester's  whom 
he  had  met  in  New  York  only  that  day.  Ches 
ter,  he  told  me,  was  living  in  Washington, 


1 86  'The  Highroad 

where  he  was  practicing  law.  He  was  over  in 
New  York  for  a  week  and  had  taken  the  occa 
sion  to  call  upon  us,  as  he  had  heard  from 
Fowlersburg  that  we  were  living  here.  Ches 
ter  talked  staccato  in  a  charming  voice: 

"I  suppose  you  will  be  going  down  soon. 
They  are  going  to  put  a  railroad  through  your 
place,  they  tell  me.  Property  is  advancing  in 
price  around  Fowlersburg.  You  will  be  sell 
ing  your  farm  for  town  lots  in  a  few  years. 
Mother  talks  about  you  all  the  time.  She  told 
me,  if  I  saw  you,  to  be  sure  and  tell  you  to 
come  down  and  spend  the  whole  summer  with 
her,  and  you  could  talk  over  old  times." 

Of  course  I  said  that  I  would  never  sell  the 
old  place,  town  lots  or  no  town  lots.  The 
town  has  never  grown  out  in  this  direction,  so 
I  have  kept  that  promise,  but  the  prospect  of  it 
at  that  moment  put  new  life  into  me. 

Babcock,  whose  eyes  were  fastened  on  Gene- 
vieve,  let  us  talk  on,  but  I  could  see  my 
daughter  casting  backward  glances  toward  the 
wonderful  young  man  whose  magnetic  pres 
ence  and  caressing  voice  seemed  to  fill  the 
whole  room. 

Through  all  the  Fowlersburg  gossip,  the 
story  of  how  this  or  that  girl  had  married,  of 


We  Look  About  Us  187 

how  the  tale  of  Lucile's  marriage  had  fairly 
awakened  the  town,  my  mind  was  working. 
Was  this  beautiful  creature  available  as  a  hus 
band  for  Genevieve?  I  knew  that  his  family 
was  among  the  best  in  the  state.  They  were 
not  rich,  but  if  he  were  a  lawyer  in  Washing 
ton  he  might  make  money.  He  bore  every 
sign  of  prosperity,  and  not  one  of  struggle. 
And  then — the  young  man  with  him,  I  knew  by 
his  name  to  belong  to  a  famous  New  York 
family. 

I  turned  to  Mr.  Baocock  presently  and  told 
him  that  I  thought  that  I  had  met  his  cousin, 
Mrs.  Dodds,  in  London. 

I  had  hesitated  over  this  at  first.  I  was 
making  a  complete  chain  by  which  ail  my  pre 
tensions  could  be  exposed  to  New  York,  If 
Chester  wished,  he  could  tell  the  story  of  our 
pretensions  to  this  young  man.  But  something 
very  tangible  told  me  that  Chester  would  do 
nothing  of  the  sort. 

I,  Lady  Horton's  mother,  was  very  useful  to 
him.  It  is  one  thing  to  belong  to  an  old  We,st 
Virginia  family,  and  another  to  reach  New 
York  society.  And  in  Chester's  eyes  we  had 
always  been  unusual  people.  He  had  seen  the 
wicker  chairs  and  chintz  roses,  those  wonders 


1 88  The  Highroad 

of  his  day.  From  the  way  he  accented  the  old 
friendship  for  his  mother,  and  led  the  talk  to 
France  and  England,  I  could  see  that  he  had 
brought  Babcock  to  us  that  we  might  impress 
him;  and  so  ungrateful  was  I,  that — that  one 
thing  decided  me  that  Chester  would  not  do. 
He  did  not  ring  sound. 

It  was  luncheon  time  presently,  and  we  in 
sisted  that  the  young  men  should  stay  for  a 
"woman's  luncheon." 

"Old-fashioned  West  Virginia  manner,"  I 
said  to  Babcock,  and  we  all  took  the  remark 
seriously. 

We  had  the  French  servant  I  had  brought 
with  me,  and  I  knew  that  the  soup  pot  was  full, 
as  always,  and  that  a  salad,  a  bottle  of  wine 
and  informality  would  go  a  great  way  with 
young  men. 

They,  in  their  turn,  asked  us  to  go  out  to 
dinner  with  them  at  Delmonico's  that  even 
ing. 

As  we  went  down  the  stairs  in  the  evening's 
dusk,  we  passed  our  upstairs  neighbor,  who 
had  already  begun  to  excite  my  curiosity.  She 
looked  at  Chester  with  frank  admiration,  but 
she  nodded  with  a  smile  which  lowered  her 
eyelids  and  drew  up  one  side  of  her  mouth 


We  Look  About  Us  189 

whimsically  when  she  saw  Babcock.  He 
greeted  her  with  formality. 

Chester  walked  along  for  a  moment  in 
silence. 

"Wasn't  that  Mrs.  Wallingford?"  he  asked. 

"I  think  that  is  her  name." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  never  heard  of 
her?" 

"Never.  There  is  no  need  to  pretend  that 
I  know  New  York.  I  do  not." 

"Ever  see  the  great  William  B.  about 
here?" 

"William  B.?" 

"Large  man  with  a  slight  limp." 

"Oh,  you  mean— I  thought — isn't  that  her 
father?" 

"He  is  here  then!" 

"What  do  you  mean?"   I  asked  impatiently. 

"I'll  come  around  some  day  and  tell  you," 
Chester  said. 

"She  seemed  to  take  an  interest  in  you,"  I 
said,  "but  I  suppose  you  are  accustomed  to 
that." 

"I  don't  believe  I  care  to  encourage  any 
interest  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Wallingford.  Wil 
liam  B.  is  said  to  stop  at  nothing.  I  might  find 
myself  dead  some  evening." 


190  The  Highroad 

He  walked  along  with  me  for  a  moment  and 
then  he  laughed  again.  "I  have  just  treated 
myself  to  Burton's  Arabian  Nights,"  he  said. 
"A  wonderful  book  which  ladies  of  course 
never  read." 

"It  contains  a  good  deal  of  human  nature 
which  is  western  as  well  as  eastern,"  I  said 
absently. 

"Oh — you  have ?"  Chester  began. 

"I  was  speaking  of  the  usual  edition.  The 
Burton,  of  course,  never  gets  into  general  cir 
culation,"  I  said. 

"Conversational  or  otherwise?"  Chester  ven 
tured. 

But  Mr.  Babcock  asked  me  a  question  and  I 
made  no  reply. 


My  Neighbor  191 


XVII 

My  Neighbor 

Babcock  had  fallen  in  love  with  Genevieve. 
It  was  one  of  those  passions  which  astonish  us 
when  they  come  to  sober  clever  men  and 
seemingly  change  every  taste  and  habit  of 
their  lives.  We  have  all  seen  men  in  the  thrall 
of  such  a  fascination. 

The  women  of  the  Babcock  family  had  been 
generally  pretty  and  always  commonplace, 
well  born  and  bred,  and  doing  in  the  appointed 
time  the  things  which  were  expected  of  them. 

Genevieve's  caprice,  her  foreign  education, 
her  cheap  cynicism  played  upon  Elwin  Bab- 
cock's  nerves.  She  was  a  bit  of  gaudy  color, 
and  he  had  lived  in  a  family  life  which  was 
colorless.  He  had  not  gone  into  Bohemian 
society  because  that  was  outside  his  taste.  He 
was  ambitious  to  make  a  name  for  himself  at 
the  bar.  He  and  Chester  had  fallen  together 
at  college  because  Chester  lacked  the  means  to 
keep  up  with  the  fast  set.  They  had  met  on 


192  ¥be  Highroad 

the  common  ground  of  athletics;  for  while 
Babcock  was  small,  he  was  sturdy  and  a  cap 
ital  football  player,  with  the  virtues  and  the 
hardness  of  that  particular  pastime,  as  one 
could  figure  out  by  looking  at  him. 

I  went  frankly  about  ascertaining  his  for 
tune,  by  going  to  an  agency  which  put  me  in 
possession  of  the  bare  facts.  He  had  fifteen 
thousand  dollars  a  year  income  from  his  grand 
father,  would  have  more  when  his  mother  died, 
and  was  making  between  four  and  five  thousand 
dollars  a  year  as  the  law  partner  of  a  relative. 

Twenty  thousand  dollars  a  year  was  a  better 
income  in  New  York  then  than  it  is  now,  and 
he  belonged  to  the  best  people  in  the  town. 
I  wanted  Genevieve  off  my  hands.  I  was 
afraid  for  her.  I  wondered  if  she  would  marry 
Babcock — and  I  did  not  dare  to  ask  her, 
although  no  motives  of  delicacy  hindered  me, 
as  with  Lucile. 

I  had  thought  of  my  children  always  as 
pieces  on  my  chess-board  that  could  be  moved 
about  as  I  wished,  but  here  was  one  that  I 
could  not  count  upon — one  who  might  ruin 
us  all. 

Two  days  after  the  two  young  men  called, 
Genevieve  spent  the  whole  afternoon  out. 


My  Neighbor  193 

When  she  came  in  I  asked  her  where  she  had 
been. 

"To  walk,"  she  said,  shortly. 

"I  do  not  wish  you  to  go  out  alone,  my 
dear,"  I  said  gently. 

"This  is  not  Paris — nor  yet  London,"  she 
returned  indifferently.  "When  are  we  going 
away  for  the  summer?  It  is  suffocating  here 
now." 

I  had  been  awaiting  this  moment  and  I  was 
actually  afraid  to  say  outright  that  it  was  im 
possible  for  us  to  go  at  all.  Indeed,  I  began 
to  think  it  might  be  possible.  I  used  to  won 
der  what  people  meant  when  they  talked  about 
the  influence  of  a  strong  will.  I  never  remem 
bered  having  been  influenced  by  a  strong  will, 
but  Genevieve  taught  me  that  in  the  case  of  a 
daughter  it  is  worked  like  a  species  of  black 
mail.  If  I  did  not  do  what  she  wished,  she 
would  most  certainly  do  something  I  did  not 
like. 

I  had  had  every  drawer  and  box  which  be 
longed  to  Genevieve  fitted  with  keys  of  my 
own,  and  I  went  through  them  for  letters  every 
time  she  went  out.  I  had  discovered  nothing 
from  London,  and  from  her  attitude  I  con 
cluded  that  the  affair  I  had  nipped  in  the  bud 


194  *rbe  Highroad 

had  been  merely  a  passing  amusement  on  both 
sides.  I  found  a  locket  with  some  diamonds 
on  the  outside,  but  nothing  within. 

"They  say,"  Genevieve  went  on,  "that  a 
cottage  at  Newport  is  the  best  thing  over  here." 

"We  cannot  afford  that." 

"You  might  send  for  old  Prolmann  and  get 
him  to  take  one."  She  did  not  look  at  me, 
but  sprinkled  paprika  on  her  salad  with  an 
ostentatious  care. 

My  heart  stopped  beating  for  a  moment  and 
then  went  heavily  on.  I  had  control  of  my 
voice  by  the  second  beat. 

"He  would  doubtless  do  that  to  give  his  old 
friends  pleasure,  but  he  is  very  ill.  You  know 
he  could  not  come  to  Lucile's  wedding."  And 
I  looked  straight  into  her  insolent  face. 

The  question  of  the  summer  was  settled 
before  long.  Mrs.  Dodds  was  going  to  Paris 
for  a  week  or  two,  to  come  back  on  a  yacht 
which  her  husband  had  leased  from  an  English 
man.  To  please  her  cousin  Elwin  and  to  meet 
the  Malpierres  and  have  Lady  Horton's  sister 
as  a  guest,  she  asked  to  take  Genevieve  with 
her,  and  bring  her  back  for  the  Newport 
season  in  August.  It  is  expensive  to  stay  with 
people  of  wealth  like  the  Dodds,  but  there  was 


My  Neighbor  195 

nothing  else  to  do.  Mr.  Dodds  was  one  of 
the  new  rich  men  who  had  married  rather  late 
in  life  into  an  old  family.  Robert  and  I  would 
stay  in  the  New  York  apartment  and  nobody 
would  know  the  difference.  But  naturally  we 
did  not  speak  of  that  to  Mrs.  Dodds  in  all  the 
hurry  of  her  departure. 

It  was  Mrs.  Dodds  who  introduced  me  to 
Mrs.  Wallingford.  We  met  in  the  big  square 
hall  which  had  been  the  basement  dining-room 
of  the  old  house  from  which  our  apartment 
house  had  been  converted. 

The  two  ladies  greeted  each  other  with  a  half 
indifferent  smile  which  lifted  the  corner  of  her 
soft  mouth  on  the  part  of  my  fellow  tenant, 
and  something  like  embarrassment  in  the  man 
ner  of  Mrs.  Dodds.  We  were  going  for  a  drive 
in  Central  Park  in  the  Dodds's  carriage. 

When  we  were  seated  in  the  victoria  Mrs. 
Dodds  said  almost  apologetically,  "I  went  to 
school  with  Lily  Mainwaring  and  she  was 
always  an  agreeable  girl,  Her  marriage  was 
most  unfortunate.  Of  course  I  never  knew 
the  facts,"  she  added  hastily.  "My  husband 
will  never  have  her  at  the  house  even  for  the 
largest  affairs.  He  does  not  feel  that  the  old 
family  ties  hold."  Mrs.  Dodds  waited  for 


196  'The  Highroad 

questions.  She  evidently  had  an  impression 
that  as  she  had  introduced  me  to  my  neighbor 
she  must  tell  me  all  about  her.  The  introduc 
tion  had  been  part  of  the  embarrassment  of  the 
moment  of  meeting,  something  that  her  con 
fusion  had  not  known  how  to  avoid.  "Her 
husband  is  dead.  He  spent  all  of  her  fortune, 
and  it  is  said" — more  hesitation — "that  he 
borrowed  a  great  deal  from  her  friends." 

"Surely  she  was  not  to  blame  for  that,"  I 
ventured. 

"She  was  to  blame  for  even  marrying  the 
man  in  the  first  place.  She  was  at  school  in 
Paris  when  she  met  him.  He  was  an  officer  in 
the  English  army,  and  a  great  deal  older — and 
married." 

"Married?" 

"Yes.  Imagine  a  girl  ever  thinking  of  a 
married  man!"  I  saw  that  I  must  give  Gene- 
vieve  a  word  of  warning  for  this  visit  with 
Mrs.  Dodds.  She  might  listen  to  advice  con 
cerning  a  thing  which  was  going  to  affect  her 
pleasure,  as  Mrs.  Dodds's  displeasure  could 
do. 

"I  cannot,"  I  said. 

"Well,  maybe  she  didn't.  It  may  have  been 
only  himself.  At  any  rate,  he  went  back  to 


My  Neighbor  197 

England,  persuaded  his  wife  to  get  a  divorce 
or  made  her  do  so,  changed  his  name,  and 
came  over  here  and  married  Lily  Mainwaring. 
People  accepted  him  before  they  knew  all  the 
story — and  it  is  very  difficult  to  drop  people 
after  they  have  been  taken  up.  Then — he 
spent  her  money,  and — well,  entertained  a 
good  deal."  She  stopped. 

"Isn't  her  father  living?"  I  asked  inno 
cently,  and  then  before  Mrs.  Dodds  could 
answer,  I  went  on,  "I  see  him  going  up  every 
day  almost.  A  tall  old  man — with  a  limp." 

Mrs.  Dodds's  face  expressed  excitement — 
but  she  was  not  a  gossip.  "That  is  Mr.  Wil 
liam  B.  Clancy.  He  is — he  was  an  old  friend 
of — her  husband.  But  you  must  be  mistaken 
in  thinking  that  he  goes  up  there  every  day?" 
There  was  a  distinct  interrogation  at  the  end 
of  the  sentence. 

"I  doubtless  am,"  I  laughed.  "See  how 
one  may  hypnotize  oneself,  and  what  human 
testimony  is  worth.  I  thought  he  was  her 
father,  and  when  I  saw  him  once  or  twice,  I 
imagined  he  came  every  day."  She  looked  at 
me  keenly.  I  knew  that  he  came  almost  every 
day,  that  he  stayed  to  dinner  often,  that  a 
caterer's  man  came  at  seven  o'clock  with  the 


198  'The  Highroad 

elaborate  meal  and  stayed  to  see  that  it  was 
sent  into  the  dining-room.  One  hears  a  great 
deal  in  the  shaft  of  a  dumb  waiter.  But  there 
is  an  old  proverb  which  says  that  "Silence  is 
the  god  of  the  lucky." 


My  Neighbor's  Ways  199 


XVIII 

My  Neighbor's  Ways 

After  Genevieve  had  sailed  away  with  advice 
as  plain  as  I  could  give,  I  went  up  to  Cam 
bridge  and  Robert  came  home  with  me. 

I  found  him  much  more  agreeable  than  I  had 
expected.  Prolmann  and  his  secretary  and 
Madame  Vestrine  had  done  wonders  for  the 
boy.  He  was  still  a  boy,  of  course.  In  that 
lay  his  charm. 

There  were  no  complaints  from  him  when 
the  smothering  heat  of  July  came  upon  us. 
Some  days  we  would  take  the  boat  to  Long 
Branch,  on  others  we  would  go  up  to  the  casino 
in  the  park  or  to  Claremont  for  dinner.  But  our 
own  little  cold  dinners  in  the  negligee  of  home 
and  in  the  half  dusk  were  more  comfortable. 

I  grew  fond  of  Robert  then.  He  had  a  sweet 
nature — too  sweet  a  nature,  I  felt  sure,  to  make 
his  way  in  the  rough  and  tumble  of  the  financial 
world.  And  yet  he  had  no  real  mind  for  a 
profession.  I  thought  a  good  deal  of  Robert's 
future. 

It  was  in  July  that  we  became  friends  with 


2oo  The  Highroad 

Mrs.  Wallingford.  For  some  days  I  had  not 
seen  "the  Great  William  B."  limping  up  the 
stairs,  nor  had  I  heard  the  sounds  of  gay 
laughter  and  the  popping  of  champagne  corks. 
One  morning  I  read  in  my  Herald  that  Mr. 
Clancy  had  gone  west  upon  an  important  rail 
road  matter.  He  would  go  on  to  the  north 
west  and  be  gone  a  month.  I  was  sure  from 
the  sounds  above  that  Mrs.  Wallingford  was 
still  in  the  house.  Tire  caterer  came  as  usual, 
but  with  no  such  elaboration  of  equipment.  I 
could  open  the  door  of  the  dumb  waiter  and 
see  what  went  up,  as  well  as  the  champagne 
bottles  and  pati  terrines  that  came  down  in  the 
mornings.  Sometimes  there  had  been  broken 
china  and  glasses  after  a  particularly  lively 
supper. 

Mrs.  Wallingford  seemed  to  have  few 
women  visitors  and  most  of  them  came  in  the 
morning.  In  the  evenings  and  afternoons  of 
the  first  month  we  came,  there  had  been  three 
constant  visitors.  Usually  they  came  sep 
arately,  but  sometimes  they  happened  in 
together.  They  almost  never  all  dined  there, 
but  sometimes  I  heard  all  three  voices  at  sup 
per.  There  was  a  delightful  big  bow  window 
in  each  back  room  of  the  apartments.  I  used 


My  Neighbor's  Ways  201 

this  room  for  my  bed-room,  but  evidently  Mrs. 
Wallingford  used  hers  for  a  dining-room,  for  I 
could  hear  the  sounds  of  supper  in  the  window 
on  warm  spring  nights.  I  could  hear  very  few 
words,  but  enough  to  know  that  the  big,  ath 
letic,  highly-colored  clergyman  who  was  so 
often  a  guest,  was  not  leading  Mrs.  Walling 
ford  and  her  friends  in  prayer. 

This  clergyman  I  once  went  to  hear  preach 
later,  simply  to  become  accustomed  to  the 
cadences  of  his  powerful  voice.  I  sat  in  a  pew 
in  his  well-filled  church  and  heard  him  preach 
practical  life.  His  text  was  from  Habakkuk: 
"Woe  is  him  that  giveth  his  neighbor  drink, 
that  puttest  thy  bottle  to  him,  and  makest  him 
drunken  also." 

His  congregation  was  made  up  of  all  sorts  of 
people,  as  the  pews  were  free  and  he  had  ad 
mirers  in  all  classes,  but  I  doubt  if  any  of  them 
enjoyed  that  sermon  as  much  as  I  did. 

Church  had  grown  to  be  a  habit  with  me,  and 
it  was  not  until  the  next  autumn  that  I  discov 
ered  that  Mr.  Bliss— Mr.  Bliss  of  Fowlers- 
burg — had  charge  of  the  most  fashionable 
church  in  New  York.  When  I  heard  it  I 
laughed,  and  I  made  one  comment  to  myself: 
"You  cannot  keep  us  down!" 


2O2  'The  Highroad 

It  came  to  my  ears  later  that  Mr.  Bliss  was 
now  exercising  his  tact  toward  a  very  rich, 
very  stupid  man,  whose  temper  had  been 
soured  by  the  social  successes  of  a  sister-in- 
law  who  was  then  in  the  act  of  leading  the 
family  into  the  giddy  heights  of  "society." 
This  sister-in-law,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  created 
the  "new"  society  in  New  York,  the  society 
which  is  founded  upon  money.  She  had  a 
sense  of  humor  and  no  bump  of  reverence. 
When  her  heavy  brother-in-law  asked  for  rever 
ence,  as  the  head  of  the  family,  she  gave  him 
the  sort  of  laughter  which  he  furiously  likened 
to  the  crackling  of  thorns  under  a  pot.  She 
asked  "society"  to  go  to  the  great  house  he 
had  built  and  see  how  funny  he  and  his  wife 
were.  She  entertained  guests  with  stories  of 
the  economies  of  a  man  whose  income  was 
three  millions  a  year. 

Mr.  Bliss  soothed  the  baited  one's  sore 
nerves  by  showing  him  how  he  could  distance 
her  by  becoming  a  great  philanthropist.  Inci 
dentally,  Mr.  Bliss  became  his  almoner  and  a 
part  of  his  church.  Mr.  Bliss  had  first  been  a 
mission  worker  in  New  York.  He  left  Fow- 
lersburg  because  in  a  moment  of  a  return  to 
nature  he  married  the  paid  organist.  I  went 


My  Neighbor's  Ways  203 

to  Mr.  Bliss'  church.  He  welcomed  me  with 
solemn  joy.  I  was  the  mother-in-law  of  Lord 
Horton.  Like  Chester,  he  needed  friends  of 
his  youth  who  were  presentable  in  his  new 
field  of  action. 

This  story  has  no  coherence,  I  see.  I  digress 
like  any  other  old  woman. 

The  third  friend  of  Mrs.  Wallingford  was  a 
mystery  to  me  for  a  long  time.  I  should 
never  have  dreamed  of  asking  questions  of  the 
janitress,  and  it  would  have  done  no  good  had 
I  done  so,  as  Mrs.  Wallingford' s  visitors  were 
more  than  freehanded.  But  one  day  I  saw  his 
picture  in  the  Herald  and  recognized  it,  with  a 
tingling  shock.  He  was  one  of  the  greatest  of 
financiers,  a  man  whose  projects  were  world 
wide — greater  even  than  "the  great  William 
B."  He  was  a  thin,  spare,  active-looking 
man,  with  brilliant  eyes  set  very  close  to 
gether.  I  studied  his  face  with  curiosity. 
These  men  made  Mrs.  Wallingford  very  inter 
esting  to  me. 

My  admiration  for  her  was  acute  at  first,  and 
then — what  a  fool  she  was  to  risk  her  reputa 
tion!  Both  of  these  men  were  married.  So 
was  the  clergyman,  but  I  left  him  out.  What 
was  she  doing?  What  was  she  going  to  do? 


2O4  Tbe  Highroad 

The  situation  lay  there  before  me  like  a  puz 
zle,  and  the  great  question  finally  became, 
what  was  I  going  to  do?  To  let  this  situation 
alone  was  impossible.  I  needed  too  much. 
Do  not  imagine  that  I  put  it  to  myself  like 
that.  But  rich  men,  men  who  juggled  with 
the  finances  of  the  world,  were  valuable  friends, 
if  one  knew  how  to  use  them.  That  Mrs.  Wal- 
lingford  did  not  know. 

The  hall  of  the  apartment  house  was  simply 
the  old  basement  front  room.  (The  janitress 
pigged  along  in  a  room  or  two  behind.)  It  had 
been  made  pretty  with  stained  glass,  an  open 
fire-place  and  soft  couches.  It  was  an  easy 
place  to  linger  for  a  moment  before  mounting 
the  stairs,  and  one  day  I  was  there  waiting 
for  Robert  to  come  downstairs,  when  Mrs. 
Wallingford  came  in.  She  looked  pale  from 
the  heat  and  sat  down  hastily,  almost  strug 
gling  for  breath.  Robert  came  down  the  stairs 
and  faced  her,  as  she  sat  there  pale  and  ex 
hausted.  He  gave  a  soft  little  exclamation  of 
concern  at  the  sight  of  her  suffering,  and  tak 
ing  up  a  palm  leaf  fan,  which  lay  on  the  table, 
began  fanning  her. 

"May  I  get  you  a  glass  of  water,  some 
wine — anything?"  he  asked.  His  manner  was 


My  Neighbor's  Ways  205' 

perfect.  He  had  never  seen  her  before.  She 
looked  at  him  gratefully  with  her  pretty,  one 
sided  smile  which  showed  a  dimple  in  her 
cheek. .  She  was  almost  as  old  as  I,  but  there 
was  an  indefinable  girlishness  about  her,  some 
thing  sweet,  appealing,  tender. 

I  joined  my  solicitude  to  Robert's.  She 
assured  us  that  it  was  a  momentary  faintness 
due  to  the  heat.  She  had  not  been  well  of  late. 
She  ought  to  get  out  of  town. 

Robert  (whom  I  had  introduced  as  my  son) 
went  upstairs  with  her. 

The  next  morning  I  mounted  to  her  apart 
ment  to  ask  about  her  health.  I  found  her  in 
a  bed-room  which  should  have  been  preserved 
in  a  museum  as  typical. 

She  had  taken  the  dark  middle  room  just 
back  of  the  "parlor"  as  her  bed-room.  The 
bed  was  on  a  dais  which  jutted  out  into  the 
room,  the  head  coming  against  the  wall.  At 
first  in  the  dim  rose-shaded  lights  this  bed 
looked  like  something  very  handsome,  and 
then  I  saw  what  it  was.  An  old-fashioned  four 
poster  bedstead  had  been  painted  old  ivory 
color  and  set  against  the  wall.  Between  the 
posts  at  the  head  had  been  hung  a  high  relief 
of  Delia  Robbia's  singing  boys  in  plaster  with 


206  fbe  Highroad 

an  ivory  finish.  From  the  ceiling  swung  a 
canopy  of  rose-colored  tarlatan  in  full  folds, 
enveloping  the  bed  and  the  dais.  The  walls  of 
the  room  had  first  been  covered  with  pink  and 
then  hung  in  full  folds  of  the  tarlatan.  Folds 
of  the  thin  stuff  draped  the  dressing-table, 
which  glittered  with  ivory  and  gold.  A  cheval 
glass,  and  a  six-fold  screen  of  mirrors,  set  in 
gilt  garlands,  enlarged  the  room  and  reflected 
all  this  soft  rosiness,  which  was  full  of  the 
scent  of  orris  and  carnation,  making  a  peculiar, 
pungent  combination  which  took  my  nerves. 
Hot  as  it  was,  there  were  a  half  dozen  candles 
lighted  under  pink  shades.  Mrs.  Wallingford 
lay  on  the  wide  bed  in  a  nightgown  (if  you 
could  imagine  so  wonderful  a  creation  as  made 
for  darkness)  which  showed  her  neck  and  arms. 
Across  her  feet  was  a  spread  of  lace  lined  with 
pink,  each  fold  as  exact  as  though  it  had  been 
drawn  by  a  rule  and  compass.  She  did  not 
seem  to  be  reading.  There  was  no  light  suffi 
cient  for  reading.  She  was  simply  lying  there 
like  a  great  white  rose  in  her  pink  nest.  Even 
the  lace  handkerchief  in  her  hand  seemed  to 
be  arranged  as  part  of  the  picture. 

She  was  most  agreeable,  almost  cordial  in  a 
languid  way.     And  with  a  childish  naivett  she 


My  Neighbor's  Ways  207 

asked  about  Robert,  and  told  me  to  ask  him 
to  come  and  see  her. 

"He  was  so  kind,"  she  said. 

As  I  went  downstairs  I  met  Van  Nest,  the 
great  financier,  with  his  bright  eyes  glancing  at 
me  curiously,  coming  up  the  stairs.  I  did  not 
wonder  how  long  Mrs.  Wallingford  kept  him 
waiting,  he,  whose  time  was  so  precious,  while 
she  dressed  for  a  visitor. 


208  'The  Highroad 

XIX 

/  Plant  a  Seed 

In  the  days  which  followed,  we  came  to 
know  Mrs.  Wallingford  very  well,  and  I  think 
she  felt  that  we  were  a  godsend  to  her  indolent 
life.  She  of  course  knew  something  of  us,  or 
thought  she  did,  and  like  all  women  in  her 
position,  she  may  then  have  dreamed  of  hav 
ing  some  friends  who  might  make  her  inde 
pendent  of  the  society  which  was  bit  by  bit 
drawing  away  from  her. 

She  was  almost  simple-minded,  disarmingly 
so,  almost  lovable  in  her  ingenuousness, 
although  love  for  her  was  inhibited  in  me  by 
the  contempt  with  which  she  filled  me.  She 
seemed  to  have  no  will-power  at  all,  no  re 
serves  except  the  reserve  of  indolence.  She 
gave  of  herself  out  of  her  sweetness,  as  a 
flower  gives  perfume.  It  was  a  sensuous  per 
fume,  something  that  troubled.  I  could  recon 
struct  her  marriage.  I  could  picture  to  myself 
that  young  girl  who  met  the  admiration  of 
everybody  with  kindness  and  who  had  no 


I  Plant  a  Seed  209 

hardness  anywhere  with  which  to  rebuff.  The 
older  man  had  simply  taken  what  she  had  no 
power  to  refuse — and  history  was  doubtless 
repeating  itself. 

Nature  is  never  more  blandly  oblivious  of 
our  frantic  civilization  than  in  a  woman  like 
this.  Is  she  a  weed  or  a  flower?  What  is  a 
flower  except  a  weed  that  appeals  to  some  one 
of  our  senses.  Our  scheme  of  civilization  is 
utilitarian,  founded  on  the  inheritance  of 
property,  and  this  woman  will  never  keep  in 
line.  The  women  who  do  are  quite  right  in 
condemning  her,  in  pushing  her  out  of  the  way. 

I  knew  that  Mrs.  Wallingford  had  no  money. 
Every  one  possessed  that  bit  of  information, 
and  yet  she  spent  money  lavishly.  She  seemed 
to  have  no  idea  of  its  value.  I  saw  very  soon 
that  the  expenditures  of  the  little  apartment 
would  serve  to  keep  up  a  house.  I  doubt  not, 
in  fact  I  know,  that  the  portfolio  in  her  gay 
little  Louis  XV.  desk  grew  packages  of  pink 
bank  notes,  that  her  debts  were  paid  by  a 
"secretary."  She  gave  ways  and  means  no 
thought  at  all.  She  rested  upon  life  as  tran 
quilly  as  she  rested  on  her  rosy  bed. 

It  was  through  an  accident  that  I  met  Mr. 
Van  Nest. 


2io  'The  Highroad 

I  too  was  a  little  bored.  New  York  was 
very  dreary  and  depressing,  and  sometimes 
when  the  silence  above  told  me  that  my  neigh 
bor  was  alone,  I  would  go  up  in  the  evening 
with  Robert.  The  boy  must  have  some  one 
upon  whom  to  practice  his  social  graces,  and 
Mrs.  Wallingford  was  thirty-five. 

One  evening  we  had  gone  upstairs  about 
nine.  We  found  the  lattices  of  the  drawing- 
room  wide  open  to  catch  the  air,  the  pink- 
shaded  candles  few  and  dim,  and  Mrs. 
Wallingford  a  fluff  of  white  lace  lying  idly  in 
a  long  chair.  We  came  in  without  disturbing 
her,  and  sat  and  talked  of  the  heat,  of  the 
nothings  which  make  up  so  much  of  social  con 
verse  that  it  seems  wonderful  that  we  should 
take  the  trouble  to  speak. 

Robert  told  her  of  some  old  French  songs 
which  Madame  Vestrine  had  given  him,  and  he 
went  downstairs  and  brought  them  up.  They 
lighted  the  candles  at  the  piano  and  tried  them 
over,  the  quaint  music,  written  for  a  spinnet, 
the  sentimental  old  words  sounding  strange  in 
their  full  rich  voices  with  the  piano. 

Mrs.  Wallingford's  maid  opened  the  door 
and  a  man  came  in.  Mrs.  Wallingford  turned 
her  face  over  her  shoulder,  smiled,  and  with- 


I  Plant  a  Seed  211 

out  other  greeting  mentioned  Van  Nest's 
name  and  mine,  and  went  on  with  her  song. 
No  proof  of  intimacy  could  have  been  more 
complete. 

He  sat  down  beside  me  in  the  window  and 
presently  we  talked.  After  the  song  was  fin 
ished  Mrs.  Wallingford  came  over  with  Robert, 
and  I  would  have  gone,  but  they  begged  us  to 
stay  and  I  found  in  Van  Nest  an  attitude 
which  puzzled  me  then.  He  seemed  glad  that 
we  were  there  and  he  wanted  to  keep  us.  He 
spoke  to  me  frankly  of  Mrs.  Wallingford' s 
loneliness,  and  showed  that  he  knew  that  we 
had  lightened  it.  He  said  that  she  would  not 
go  away.  And  there  was  that  in  his  voice, 
gratified  vanity,  whatever  it  may  be,  which 
gave  me  to  understand  that  she  would  not  go 
while  he  remained. 

It  was  late  when  we  left  them,  and  I  would 
have  given  anything  to  have  sat  downstairs 
and  gone  over  that  affair  with  some  intelligent 
human  being.  When  Henry  and  William 
James  gossip,  how  delightful  they  must  find  it! 

We  saw  as  much  of  Van  Nest  during  the 
next  ten  days  as  though  he  had  been  a  friend. 
My  "ignorance"  of  New  York  stood  me  here. 
I  knew  nothing  from  gossip,  of  course;  how 


212  The  Highroad 

could  I?  And  I  am  sure  that  in  Van  Nest's 
eyes  I  was  too  innocent,  too  stupid,  to  see  any 
thing  for  myself.  It  has  been  my  lot  to  under 
stand  why  men  like  fools  of  women.  They 
have  shown  it  to  me,  because  they  have  so 
often  done  me  the  honor  to  consider  me  half- 
fool.  Men  love  to  talk,  to  pose  before  a  mirror, 
as  it  were,  and  they  want  the  mirror  to  be  shal 
low  and  really  to  hold  no  permanent  reflections. 
They  do  the  posing  for  their  own  pleasure  and 
want  to  leave  no  records. 

Here  and  now,  as  many  other  times,  I  ached 
to  be  my  own  self.  How  I  wanted  to  show 
myself  that  I  understood  this  man,  whose 
mind  was  considered  so  great  that  kings  and 
emperors  had  sought  his  society  that  they 
might  learn  some  of  his  secrets  for  their 
people.  Truly  to  interest  is  so  easy  that  I 
wonder  why  any  woman  is  uninteresting,  if  that 
is  her  chief  care.  All  that  is  necessary  is  to 
know  what  is  in  the  mind  of  a  man  at  the 
moment  and  throw  a  new  light  on  it,  or  play 
with  it,  so  that  he  has  a  chance  to  bring  it  out 
into  the  open.  Nobody  on  this  earth  cares  for 
any  truly  new  thing  that  has  not  a  vital  asso 
ciation  with  (not  the  present)  his  personal  pres 
ent.  Wit  only  reaches  its  point  when  it  is  a 


I  Plant  a  Seed  213 

new  light  upon  what  we  already  love  or  hate. 
And  what  trivial  things  were  in  the  mind  of 
this  "great"  man!  It  did  not  take  me  long  to 
realize  that  his  greatness  consisted  simply  in 
seeing  the  world  small.  It  was  as  though  he 
had  a  world  in  miniature  before  his  eyes,  like  a 
living  map — like  a  game.  Here  was  a  line  of 
steamships,  and  here  a  railroad,  so  much  corn 
grew  in  this  section,  the  population  yonder 
consumed  so  much.  Some  other  man  who 
owned  something  which  this  man  wanted  had 
no  map,  and  was  like  a  blind  man  going  over  a 
path  which  he  vaguely  knew  from  having  been 
led  over  it  by  some  predecessor.  It  was  easy 
for  the  man  with  the  map  in  his  head  to  be 
wilder  that  blind  man,  put  him  in  a  new  path, 
alter  his  goal,  and  take  his  business. 

But  something  which  this  man  with  the  vi 
sion  of  the  earth  did  not  see  small  was  himself. 
I  could  see  how  all  at  once  in  his  later  years 
there  had  come  to  him  a  ,sudden  feeling  of 
fright — that  there  was  something  he  had 
missed.  It  was  something  that  all  the  poets, 
the  painters,  the  historians  even,  had  agreed 
was  the  greatest  thing  in  the  whole  universe, 
the  thing  which  gave  savor  to  everything  else. 
And  he,  like  thousands  of  other  men  married 


214  The  Highroad 

in  their  youth,  had  never  felt  it.  I  could  imag 
ine  how  Mrs.  Wallingford's  one-sided  smile, 
her  tender  eyes,  her  air  of  "I am  kind,  let  me 
love  you — I  ant  kind,"  had  first  made  him  believe 
that  this  was  still  possible  for  him.  It  was 
something  that  she  could  not  help,  for  which 
she  was  in  no  sense  morally  responsible,  if 
after  all,  anybody  is  morally  responsible  for 
anything.  Why  is  a  too  soft  heart,  a  desire  to 
be  held  and  protected  and  sheltered,  different 
from  a  soft  complexion?  Do  we  create  our 
selves?  In  his  very  dignified  Gifford  lectures, 
Prof.  William  James  of  Harvard  tells  of  a 
woman  who  said  she  "loved  to  cuddle  up  to 
God."  To  some  women  the  understanding  of 
God  is  not  given,  although  the  instinct  to 
"cuddle"  is  there. 

I  saw  much  in  this  week,  and  the  chief  thing 
was  that  I  must  get  away.  I  was  growing  too 
intimate  with  the  great  Van  Nest;  and  the 
thought  that  I,  with  my  ambitions,  should  be 
flying  from  that  possibility  gave  me  smiles. 
But  I  was  on  the  wrong  road,  and  if  I  went 
farther  I  should  be  hopelessly  lost.  Mrs.  Wal- 
lingford  would  not  do.  I  suppose  had  I  at  this 
time  ventured  one  hint  to  Van  Nest  he  would 
have  given  me  a  "tip"  on  the  market  or  even 


1  Plant  a  Seed  2 15 

made  some  investments  for  me — and  despised 
me  forever  after.  As  I  have  clearly  seen  many 
times,  money  may  be  purchased  too  dearly. 
The  bare  possibility  of  money  is  so  often  the 
lure  which  ruins.  But  then  ^Esop,  who  pic 
tured  most  things,  gave  us  that  too  in  the  long 
ago  in  his  dog  and  stream  story. 

One  evening  Mrs.  Wallingford  brought  Mr. 
Van  Nest  downstairs  to  us,  and  he  asked  Rob 
ert  and  me  to  go  off  for  a  cruise  in  his  yacht 
with  Mrs.  Wallingford. 

I  thank  God  for  presence  of  mind.  I  pro 
duced  a  telegram  calling  me  to  West  Virginia 
the  next  day,  but  there  was  no  reason  why 
Robert  should  not  go.  I  had  many  thoughts 
over  the  situation.  I  had  waited  late  at  night 
for  Robert  to  come  bright-eyed  down  the 
stairs.  The  boy  was  not  a  fool  and  he  had 
attracted  Mrs.  Wallingford  in  a  way  which  had 
probably  never  come  to  her  before.  I  let  my 
fancy  go  as  to  the  effect  this  sudden  intimacy 
of  theirs, — the  woman  whose  ties  seemed  to  be 
so  many  and  the  boy  whose  ties  were  all  to 
make, — would  have  upon  those  who  claimed 
her  attention.  In  the  necessities  of  the  case 
there  could  be  no  violence  of  any  sort.  If 
Robert  was  to  be  eliminated  it  would  most 


216  The  Highroad 

naturally  be  by  that  method  known  as  kicking 
him  upstairs  to  bed.  His  reluctance  to  be 
take  himself  to  innocuous  rest  would  doubtless 
measure  the  distance  to  which  he  was  elevated. 

Two  days  after  my  talk  with  Mr.  Van  Nest,  I 
went  down  to  Fowlersburg,  leaving  Robert 
behind. 

We  sat  in  the  window  the  last  evening,  my 
only  son  and  I,  and  talked  of  many  things— of 
the  letters  from  Lucile,  of  little  Jane  at  school, 
of  Madame  Vestrine. 

"I  am  gratified  that  you  had  the  association 
with  a  woman  of  the  world,"  I  said  to  him. 

"She  made  me  see  life  a  little  more  broadly," 
he  answered. 

"She  had  been  disappointed  in  her  own 
son." 

"I  think,"  Robert  said  hesitatingly,  lighting 
a  new  cigarette,  "that  he  was  what  she  should 
have  expected.  She  married  a  man  she  should 
never  have  married — for  love,  so  called.  Her 
son  was  born  of  that  union." 

I  sat  there  gasping.  I  think  I  almost  blushed 
at  these  words  from  the  boy. 

"What  could  she  expect  except  a  lapse  from 
the  highest  civilization? — a  return  to  nature?" 

"I  am  beginning  to  think,"  I  allowed  my- 


I  Plant  a  Seed  217 


self  to  say,  "that  the  rule  does  not  hold  good. 
I  married  your  father  for  love." 

"But,  would  you  if  he  had  been  a  laborer 
on  your  father's  farm?" 

Truly,  I  felt  that  in  my  son  Robert  there 
might  not  be  great  force,  the  great  energy 
which  is  but  another  name  for  righting  instinct, 
but  there  was  more  insight  than  in  most.  I 
might  even,  in  time,  take  him  into  my  confi 
dence.  As  a  matter  of  fact  I  never  have. 
Our  manner  to  each  other  is,  however,  one  of 
complete  understanding. 


218  The  Highroad 


XX 


Fowlersburg 

My  visit  to  Fowlersburg  interested  and 
amused  me  more  than  any  experience  I  had 
ever  had  in  my  life.  Now  it  was  that  I  thor 
oughly  realized  what  an  education  the  passing 
years  had  been  to  me,  what  new  vision  and 
understanding  was  mine.  How  sorry  I  felt  for 
those  who,  seeing,  saw  not.  When  I  left  Fow 
lersburg  I  had  had  nothing  real  with  which  to 
compare  people.  I  valued  them  wrongly, 
sometimes  too  high  and  sometimes  too  low. 
Here  on  one  little  canvas  was  the  drama  of 
life, — all  within  one's  vision,  not  partly  hid 
den  as  in  larger  places.  I  do  not  wonder  that 
it  is  the  men  from  small  towns  who  go  to  cities 
and  control  them.  It  is  a  simple  problem  as 
soon  as  they  learn,  as  Van  Nest  had  learned, 
that  great  concerns  follow  exactly  the  same 
laws  as  small  ones.  Society  is  necessarily 
much  the  same  everywhere,  being  made  up  of 
individuals  of  the  human  family.  Again,  here 
in  Fowlersburg  I  thought  how  little  the  ma- 


Fowlersburg  219 

jority  of  the  world  sees.  When  I  went  out  to 
"tea"  (it  was  "supper"  when  they  were  not 
entertaining)  or  to  the  various  forms  of  enter 
tainment  to  which  they  invited  me,  almost 
every  one  expressed  surprise  that  I  did  not 
find  it  dull  in  Fowlersburg.  "Why?"  I  some 
times  asked. 

"Oh,  but  you  must  miss  society.  Although," 
they  would  often  add,  "I  suppose  you  realize 
its  hollowness."  (I  wonder  who  was  the  first 
person  to  call  society  "hollow.")  "But  even 
so,"  they  would  go  on,  "there  are  all  the  ad 
vantages  of  music  and  the  drama." 

And  I  used  to  answer  politely,  and  look  at 
the  speaker  and  fairly  ache  to  tell  her  that  she 
was  a  character  in  a  drama,  that  the  stage  could 
never  produce  anything  so  interesting. 

Isn't  it  strange  that  people  will  die  of  ennui 
in  the  midst  of  a  life  and  people  that  would 
thrill  them  with  interest  if  it  were  shown  to 
them  through  the  eyes  of  another? 

Fowlersburg  fairly  reeked  with  characters — 
and  they  lived  stories,  too,  which  are  worthy 
of  an  artist  in  narrative.  One  woman  down 
there  possessed  my  mind.  Often  I  have  seen  a 
landscape  which  for  an  instant  developed  itself 
through  an  atmosphere  which  made  my. heart 


220  'The  Highroad 

ache  because  I  was  not  Corot  that  I  might 
record  the  fleeting  Mona  Lisa  smile  of  mys 
terious  nature.  So  Mrs.  Cavendish  tormented 
me.  She  was  old,  old  in  body,  and  her  spirit 
was  young  and  hated  her  old  body  and  tried  to 
hide  it.  She  came  to  "tea"  with  us  one  even 
ing  when  Mrs.  Ward  had  invited  a  number  of 
her  old  friends,  and  she  sat  there  gay  of  voice, 
youthfully  dressed,  wigged,  scattering  the  wit 
ticisms,  the  theories  of  life,  the  anecdotes  that 
she  had  taken  from  years  of  reading  but  which 
her  audience  accepted  as  original,  her  poor, 
lined,  parchment-like  old  face  covered  by  a 
heavy  veil  hanging  from  a  "picture  hat," 
which  she  lifted  for  each  mouthful  of  food.  Is 
there  anything  in  fiction,  in  drama,  if  you  will, 
stranger  than  this  woman?  How  Thackeray 
would  have  loved  her! 

Mrs.  Ward  came  to  take  me  home  with  her 
the  day  I  reached  the  town,  which  I  had  found 
greatly  changed.  The  hotel  was  a  new  one, 
rejoicing  in  its  modern  improvements  of 
fringed  napkins,  blue  glass  finger-bowls  and 
red  brussels  carpets.  The  food  in  that  land  of 
plenty  was  tough  or  canned,  and  to  me,  a  little 
dainty  about  what  I  ate  in  these  latter  years 
since  the  flavor  of  the  pickled  pork  which  was 


Fowlersburg  221 

my  husband's  favorite  dish  had  gone  from  my 
palate,  it  was  impossible.  When  my  old 
acquaintance  came  to  see  me,  I  rejoiced  at  the 
prospect  of  being  asked  out  to  supper,  and  my 
joy  shone  in  my  face. 

Mrs.  Ward  was  noticeably  nervous.  She  had 
put  on  her  best  dress,  which  was  a  black  gros- 
grain  silk  trimmed  with  jet,  and  a  new  pair  of 
shoes.  The  yellow  soles  of  those  new  shoes, 
and  the  tight  strings  to  the  black  lace  bonnet 
which  sat,  narrow  and  assertive,  on  the  tightly 
crimped  hair  above  the  pretty  forehead,  gave 
me  my  first  hint  of  what  an  important  person  I 
had  grown  to  be  in  Fowlersburg. 

"Chester  said  he  had  seen  you  in  New  York, 
and  that  you  were  just  like  old  times" — she 
held  me  away  from  her  and  looked  at  me  with 
real  affection.  "I  couldn't  believe  that  you'd 
come  back  just  the  same  old  neighbor  that 
used  to  pass  cake  over  the  fence."  I  had  for 
gotten  the  cake-passing  episode  because  it  was 
never  a  habit  of  mine,  but  it  had  evidently 
become  part  of  my  history  since  my  daughter 
had  married  a  lord,  and  I  was  ready  enough  to 
accept  it.  Mrs.  Ward  belonged  to  one  of  the 
real  old  blue-blood  families  of  the  state. 
Quite  unconsciously  she  was  taking  me  into  an 


222  I'be  Highroad 

intimacy  which,  with  all  the  respect  we  had 
had  in  Fowlersburg  in  those  old  days  I  had 
never  enjoyed.  I  had  never  been  really  one  of 
them. 

"And  now,"  she  went  on,  "if  you  can  put  up 
with  us,  won't  you  bring  your  trunk  and  come 
up  and  stay?  Now  Chester  has  gone,  I'm  all 
alone.  Sometimes  it  seems  to  me  I  can't 
stand  it." 

"I  should  think,"  I  ventured  later,  when  I 
had  put  on  my  bonnet  (I  had  put  on  mourning 
for  my  father  down  here)  and  gone  home  with 
her,  "that  you  would  go  to  Washington  and 
make  a  home  for  Chester." 

"I  would  in  a  minute,  but  he  doesn't  think 
it  best.  You  know  his  friends  are  'all  very 
wealthy  people,  and  he  has  to  make  as  good  a 
show  as  anybody.  If  you  do  not,  Chester 
says,  people  will  think  you  are  nobody,  and  if 
that  happens  he  never  will  get  any  business, 
Chester  says." 

The  refrain  to  every  sentence  was,  "Chester 
says."  Chester  was  the  heart  of  her  life,  and 
like  many  another  mother  she  sat  at  home 
and  economized  that  her  son  should  have  "his 
chance."  I  wondered  what  my  children  would 
have  done  had  that  been  my  ideal  of  duty.  I 


Fowlersburg  223 

suppose  the  sort  of  teachers  of  ethics  who 
preach  in  pulpits  or  newspaper  editorials  would 
assure  me  that  they  would  have  made  good 
Americans,  that  the  iron  of  self-reliance  would 
have  developed  in  them  as  it  had  in  their 
father  and  in  me,  that  I  had  dwarfed  their  lives 
by  having  miserable  snobbish  ideals  myself 
and  educating  them,  forcing  them,  into  false 
positions.  That  may  be,  but  unfortunately  I 
notice  that  the  young  men  and  women,  and 
even  the  older  ones,  who  were  educated  in  all 
of  these  strong  American  ideals  consider  the 
finest  flower  of  their  success  an  admission  into 
the  society  where  my  children  live,  of  which 
they  are  a  part.  Lucile,  my  good  narrow 
Lucile,  who  in  her  natural  environment  would 
have  read  papers  on  "The  Influence  of  Byzan 
tine  Architecture  on  Russia,"  to  Fowlersburg 
women  who  have  never  seen  a  Russian  in  their 
lives,  is  a  figure  of  importance  even  in  her  own 
world  of  English  political  and  social  life,  just 
as  she  would  have  been  in  the  small  world  of 
Fowlersburg;  the  big  world  of  England  being 
made  up  of  precisely  the  same  sort  of  people 
with  a  different  education. 

This  is  not  a  oopular  theory,  it  is  simply  the 
truth. 


224  fbe  Highroad 

I  grew  very  fond  of  Mrs.  Ward.  I  was  not 
only  approved  by  Chester,  but  I  was  a  constaat 
source  of  pride  to  her.  She  took  excited 
pleasure  from  reading  in  the  grimy  little  even 
ing  paper  which  was  thrown  over  the  fence  at 
supper  time  every  day,  that  the  mother  of 
Lady  Horton,  who  was  an  attractive  addition 
to  the  English  peerage,  was  the  guest  of  Mrs. 
Sarah  Canfield  Ward  of  Tenth  Street.  There 
followed  the  usual  spread-eagle  account  of 
Lucile's  beauty  and  accomplishments  which 
made  her  "the  pride  of  royalty,"  the  paper 
said. 

Mrs.  Ward  used  to  sit  up  half  the  summer 
nights  to  ask  me  questions  concerning  the 
habits  of  the  Queen  of  England  and  her  fam 
ily.  To  my  amazement  I  discovered  that  there 
was  not  a  sixteenth  cousin  of  a  royalty  in 
Europe  whose  history  was  unknown  to  my 
hostess.  She  had  had  a  Virginia  uncle  who 
was  a  traveled  young  man,  and  in  his  youth 
had  once  come  across  that  adventurer  who 
eloped  with  the  Prince  Consort's  mother,  and 
after  her  death  carried  her  embalmed  body 
about  Europe  in  his  luggage  until  Queen  Vic 
toria  persuaded  him  to  bury  it.  Mrs.  Ward 
enjoyed  scandals,  but  her  kindness  of  heart 


Fowlersburg  225 

prevented  her  from  believing  or  repeating  the 
stories  of  laxity  which  are  always  rife  in  a  town 
like  Fowlersburg,  where  the  people  grow  into  a 
liking  for  coarse  intellectual  flavors  through  a 
lack  of  education  in  the  finer.  Few  of  those 
who  repeat  scandals  concerning  their  friends 
believe  the  stories.  They  go  on  receiving  and 
visiting,  in  these  small  towns,  ladies  concern 
ing  whom  tales  are  told,  whose  shocking  coarse 
ness  is  the  invention  of  the  lowest  minds. 
Mrs.  Ward,  a  little  sentimental,  truly  sweet, 
would  have  none  of  this;  but  undoubtedly  she 
revelled  in  the  "romances"  of  royalty,  and  she 
listened  breathless  to  the  story  of  the  Duchess 
of  Belcourt.  I  had  actually  seen  this  heroine 
of  romance. 

I  had  a  pleasant  summer  down  there  and  I 
grew  very,  very  fond  of  Mrs.  Ward.  Chester 
made  a  flying  visit  home,  and  would  have  given 
me  some  of  the  attentions  due  a  young  woman, 
but  I  grew  suddenly  old  and  almost  frumpy 
during  his  stay,  and  closer  than  ever  to  his 
mother.  I  could  not  afford  to  have  the  one 
servant  in  the  house  carrying  tales  of  "Chester 
Ward  and  the  widow."  I  was  a  quiet,  black- 
clad,  head-achey  little  figure  during  his  stay, 
which  was  not  long. 


226  The  Highroad 

It  was  during  this  visit  that  my  trustees 
kindly  offered  to  relieve  me  of  my  "wild 
lands."  But  a  word  front  Mr.  Van  Nest  had 
fallen  on  my  ear,  and  something  of  his  way  of 
looking  at  this  earth  we  live  on  had  been  for  an 
instant  possible  to  me.  "West  Virginia,"  Van 
Nest  had  said,  "is  the  most  interesting  and 
curious  state  in  this  Union.  It  is  practically  a 
virgin  state,  rich  in  mineral  as  anyone  of  the 
western  states,  and  right  here  at  the  markets 
for  its  coal  and  iron."  At  any  rate  I  could 
add  this  opinion  to  my  assets. 

I  gently,  timidly,  mentioned  this  (quite  as 
an  original  opinion)  to  Mr.  Less,  and  was  met 
with  a  slight  lifting  of  the  eyebrows  and  a 
superior  smile. 

"There  is,  I  believe,  coal  on  the  land,  is 
there  not?"  This  was  pure  guess  work  upon 
my  part,  from  Mr.  Van  Nest's  remarks. 

"It  may  be — a  little,"  Mr.  Less  said,  "but  it 
is  quite  undeveloped  and  far  from  markets. 
There  is  no  possible  chance  of  the  Pennsyl 
vania  coal  fields  allowing  West  Virginia  coal  to 
take  any  place  for  another  hundred  years,  and 
by  that  time  your  land  will  be  eaten  up  by 
taxes.  You  had  much  better  give  it  away.  I 
advise  you  to  take  any  offer  for  it." 


Fowlersburg  227 

"But,"  I  said,  more  and  more  tirmdly,  "my 
husband  must  have  had  some  reason  for  buy 
ing  it,  and  I  think  I  should  keep  it  for  the  chil 
dren.  "  Then  I  met  with  some  of  that  bullying 
which,  had  I  been  really  the  weak,  gentle, 
almost  tearful  little  woman  I  seemed,  would 
have  certainly  been  successful.  Less  assured 
me  that  as  an  executor  of  my  husband's  will 
he  must  insist  upon  my  taking  his  advice. 
"Your  children  will  never  forgive  you.  You 
have  a  duty  to  perform  toward  them.  When 
your  husband  left  you  everything,  he  left  it  as 
a  trust,  with  me  as  adviser  to  you." 

"He  must  have  wanted  the  children  to  have 
it,"  I  said  obstinately.  Mr.  Less  even  sent  the 
clergyman  to  remonstrate  with  me,  and  Mrs. 
Ward,  through  a  sense  of  duty,  told  me  that 
Mrs.  Less  had  told  her  that  my  obstinacy  had 
caused  Mr.  Less  sleepless  nights.  But  even 
for  him  I  could  not  give  up  my  "estates,"  and 
his  "sleepless  nights"  made  me  certain  of 
what  I  had  begun  to  suspect — that  somewhere 
in  the  future  there  might  be  something. 

I  slipped  through  that  summer  enjoying  the 
social  spectacle  of  Fowlersburg  and  as  always, 
everywhere,  learning,  learning.  Somebody 
has  said  somewhere,  that  there  is  no  book  so 


228  The  Highroad 

stupid,  so  banal,  that  it  does  not  contain  some 
scraps  of  information.  Surely  there  is  no  com 
munity  of  people  which  is  not  teeming  with 
illustrations  of  success  and  failure  and  the 
roots  thereof.  Psychology  is  the  most  inter 
esting  study  in  the  world,  and  now  that  I  have 
time  I  shall  search  out  its  rules  as  formulated 
by  the  wise.  But  there  are  no  new  examples  to 
present  to  me;  I  have  seen  them  all. 

Robert  did  not  write  me  full  letters,  merely 
notes  from  here  and  there.  He  spent  much  of 
his  time  on  the  yacht  of  Van  Nest. 

By  the  papers  I  saw  that  "the  great  William 
B.  Clancy"  was  again  in  the  social  world,  enter 
taining  magnificently  at  Newport.  Mrs.  Wall- 
ingford  never  went  to  Newport,  though  some 
times  to  Narragansett;  but  wherever  she  went 
Robert  was  in  her  train.  That  he  did  not  get 
into  the  newspapers  was  to  me  an  evidence  of 
infinite  tact.  Every  Sunday's  edition  I  took 
up  with  the  fear  of  seeing  his  frank  smiling 
face  looking  out  in  a  "half-tone." 

It  was  not  long  before  Genevieve  appeared 
in  the  accounts  of  Newport.  She  had  spent  a 
great  deal  more  money  than  we  could  afford, 
while  in  Paris,  and  the  results  seemed  to  be 
showing  at  Newport.  How  I  prayed  that  one 


Fowlersburg  229 

of  the  young — or  old — millionaires  would  take 
her  off  my  hands!  She  seemed  to  be  having  a 
success  with  what  was  in  those  days  known  as 
"the  Brass  Band"  set.  Genevieve  was  past- 
mistress  of  the  art  of  insolence,  and  in  that 
company  there  were  plenty  of  glass  houses. 
This  caused  her  to  "get  along,"  but  it  did  not 
marry  her  off.  In  any  set  a  man  wants  some 
thing  more  intimate  than  a  battering  ram  for  a 
wife.  When  one  like  Genevieve  is  chosen  it  is 
usually  because  she  has  been  idealized.  No 
man  ever  really  knows  a  woman  even  after  he 
marries  her.  It  is  not  because  she  is  difficult 
to  understand,  or  indeed  different  from  a  man 
of  the  same  type.  It  is  simply  that  he  must 
see  her  through  the  film  of  sex. 

To  most  people  Genevieve  was  antagonistic. 
Underneath  even  her  best  manners  men  felt  her 
contempt  for  them, — the  contempt  born  of  a 
friendship  for  Lili,  a  contempt  that  I  knew  was 
in  the  beginning  born  of  me,  but  which  I  had 
almost  always  succeeded  in  hiding  even  from 
myself.  Through  Genevieve's  short  letters 
there  was  always  a  strain  which  "rubbed  me 
the  wrong  way."  I  was  angry  that  even  I  was 
shown  her  unpleasantness.  A  woman  of  wis 
dom,  a  safe  woman,  hides  her  worst  traits. 


230  'The  Highroad 

Sometimes  I  answered  these  letters  in  a  man 
ner  which  made  my  cheeks  burn  as  I  put  the 
words  on  paper.  And  then — I  destroyed  what 
I  had  written.  I  did  not  intend  to  have  any 
thing  in  my  family  save  sweet  peace. 

How  I  writhed  under  Genevieve's  vulgarity! 
All  the  more  because  some  of  it  came  to  her 
through  me.  We  talk  a  great  deal  of  mother- 
love.  It  is  truly  the  passion  of  my  life.  What 
have  I  lived  for,  save  my  children?  They  are 
my  immortality.  They  have  in  them  Me  with 
a  new  start.  And  yet  how  well  I  understand  a 
cruel  parent!  It  is  their  own  sins,  their  own 
vices,  their  own  tendencies  born  again,  that 
they  are  crushing.  How  I  pitied  and  hated 
Genevieve's  ignorance!  Pity  is  the  feeling  to 
give  those  who  are  called  "bad."  These 
"New  Thought"  people  have  stumbled  into  a 
truth  or  two.  "Goodness"  means  nothing  ex 
cept  the  element  of  growth, — the  thing  which  is 
"good"  for  us,  for  our  bodies,  our  minds,  our 
general  happiness, — and  "bad"  is  degeneration, 
decay.  That  is  why  codes  of  morals  are 
different  in  different  civilizations.  Polygamy 
was  right  and  "blessed  of  God"  when  a  vast 
new  land  must  be  peopled,  but  when  we  are 
confronted  with,  a  greater  population  than  the 


Fowlers  burg  231 

earth  can  comfortably  feed  nothing  can  be  so 
"bad."  The  "bad"  in  this  world — those  who 
grow  ugly  with  sin — are  those  who  do  not  know 
how  to  extract  the  sweetness  from  the  world, 
to  live  in  harmony  with  their  place  and  time. 

For  Genevieve  personally  I  could  be  said  to 
have  no  love,  for  myself  I  had  a  great  deal, 
and  I  sacrificed  much  that  her  way  should  be 
easy.  I  kept  up  a  constant  correspondence 
with  Mrs.  Dodds,  and  I  asked  Lucile  to  write 
to  her  also.  I  wished  to  surround  Genevieve, 
to  soften  by  the  cushions  of  our  convention 
ality,  our  correctness,  the  angularities  of  her 
nature.  She  must  not  be  just  for  self,  but  also 
for  Lucile  and  me. 

And  while  I  was  bolstering  Genevieve,  her 
triumphs  at  Newport  were  assisting  me.  I 
smiled  sometimes  at  the  flattering  attentions 
given  me  by  the  young  girls  in  Fowlersburg. 
Each  of  them  saw  herself,  in  fancy,  sharing 
our  life  in  New  York.  They  were  insistent 
that  I  should  bring  Genevieve  down  and  allow 
them  to  give  her  a  "good  time." 

It  was  in  the  middle  of  August  that  Mrs. 
Van  Nest  died  and  I  saw  by  the  papers  that 
Mr.  Van  Nest  had  taken  his  two  daughters 
and  gone  abroad. 


232  I'be  Highroad 

Mrs.  Wallingford  went  somewhere  on  the 
Maine  coast,  and  when  next  I  heard  from 
Robert  the  letter  was  written  at  her  cottage 
there. 


I  Add  to  My  Income  233 


XXI 

/  Add  to  My  Income 

There  seemed  to  be  nothing  for  me  to  do  but 
to  take  a  house  in  New  York.  The  apartment 
had  been  a  blunder.  Mrs.  Wallingford  was  an 
acquaintance  I  could  not  afford  to  have,  nor 
could  we  afford  to  be  hidden  in  an  apartment. 
Our  vintage  required  the  bush. 

After  infinite  worry  and  trouble  I  found  a 
house  on  Gramercy  Park.  It  was  too  large, 
too  expensive,  but  I  would  risk  one  year  of  it. 
I  was  forced  into  it.  Genevieve  drove  me. 
She  fancied  that  it  was  entirely  by  her  brutal 
will  and  I  was  indifferent  concerning  her 
thought.  I  wanted  to  do  what  I  could  for  her 
ultimate  happiness,  that  she  might  be  at  least 
no  disadvantage  to  the  rest  of  us.  To  do  the 
best  for  her  was  instinct  with  me  simply 
because  she  was  my  child.  It  had  nothing  to 
do  with  my  heart  or  head.  It  was  primitive. 

I  was  terribly  anxious  now  about  money. 
Some  nights  my  fears  caused  me  to  see  myself 
building  a  fire  of  my  last  possessions, — this 


234  The  Highroad 


using  of  money  like  millionaires  when  we  had 
almost  nothing.  I  determined  that  when  we 
reached  the  bottom  of  the  forty  thousand  dol 
lars  of  life  insurance  which  my  husband  had 
left  me  I  would  stop.  And  then  —  what  would 
Genevieve  do? 

But  the  problem  of  finding  a  larger  income 
somewhere,  somehow,  was  ever  before  me. 
If  I  had  been  left  alone  I  should  probably  have 
made  a  fair  business  woman,  but  my  mind  was 
developed  in  another  direction.  My  income 
must  come  from  something  which  I  could  do 
secretly.  Those  advertisements  in  the  news 
papers  offering  ladies  "occupation  at  home" 
must  have  been  started  by  a  student  of  social 
conditions,  but  I  was  not  sufficiently  stupid  as 
to  try  that  avenue  to  fortune. 

The  time  I  chose  to  come  to  New  York 
marked  some  sharp  changes.  For  example, 
what  is  known  as  "yellow  journalism"  was  first 
sufficiently  conspicuous  among  intelligent 
people  to  acquire  the  name.  All  sorts  of 
replies  have  been  made  to  the  question  as  to 
why  it  was  named  "yellow."  It  really  came 
from  an  editorial  by  Charles  Dudley  Warner, 
\n  Harper's,  I  think.  He  wrote  apropos  of  "The 
Yellow  Book"  —  which  was  then  new  —  and  said 


I  Add  to  My  Income  235 

that  literature  was  "getting  the  yellows"  like 
a  sick  peach-tree.  But  did  you  ever  stop  and 
think  that  there  is  some  nerve-irritating  force 
which  flows  from  the  color  yellow?  I  wonder 
if  the  critic  who  will  grow  sarcastic  over  that 
statement  doubts  that  red  inflames  the  bovine 
nature?  The  French,  those  experts  in  the 
study  of  nerves,  first  discovered  its  peculiar 
quality,  and  put  yellow  outside  their  novels  as 
a  cryer  of  the  wares  within.  It  was  at  this 
time  that  a  publisher  brought  out  a  cheap 
magazine  in  yellow — yellow  outside  and  men 
tal  spoon-food  within — and  promptly  discov 
ered  how  many  ignorant  people  there  were  in 
America  who  were  pathetically  in  need  of  pre- 
digested  information  upon  all  subjects.  The 
yellow  called  them  and  they  rejoiced  at  finding 
"easy  reading"  within.  I  speak  of  this  phase 
of  New  York  life  because  I  used  it. 

That  picture  of  Lucile  which  had  appeared 
in  England  had  taught  me  something;  in  the 
first  place,  how  easy  it  is  to  get  into  print,  and 
in  the  second  place,  that  here  was  a  powerful 
weapon  if  one  knew  how  to  make  it  serve. 
But  then  all  phenomena  are  but  tools  to  the 
wise. 

After  we  were  settled  in  Gramercy  Park,  I 


236  T'be  Highroad 

went  to  a  branch  post-office  and  secured  a  box 
in  the  name  of  "Mary  Clay.  '  I  wrote  a  meek 
little  letter  to  the  editor  of  the  newest  of  the 
sensational  journals  and  told  him  that  I  had 
many  opportunities  for  hearing  the  stories  of 
"society"  both  in  New  York  and  Europe  and 
that  I  should  be  very  glad  to  sell  this  informa 
tion  to  him — secretly.  My  first  idea  was  to  place 
my  own  name  continually  before  the  public  in 
the  best  manner.  We  are  like  wax,  all  of  us, 
ready  for  impressions.  If  we  repeatedly  hear 
a  thing,  we  end  by  believing  it.  They  say  now 
that  there  is  a  physical  reason  for  it, — that  every 
thought  makes  a  little  channel  in  the  brain  like 
a  crease  in  a  sheet  of  once-folded  paper.  If 
the  same  thought  runs  along  its  channel  many 
times  it  ends  by  changing  the  very  structure  of 
the  brain.  I  wanted  to  be  a  part  of  the  world's 
idea  of  fashionable  life. 

I  found  the  pursuit  of  newspaper  writing  not 
only  informing  to  the  public  upon  my  own 
standing,  but  profitable  and  exquisitely  amus 
ing.  Out  of  pure  caprice  I  made  and  unmade. 
My  "stories"  became  so  popular  presently 
that  they  were  to  be  found  almost  every  Sun 
day  occupying  a  full  page  in  the  paper  I  had 
chosen.  Sometimes  the  photographs  were 


I  Add  to  My  Income  237 

genuine  and  sometimes  not,  the  stories  cor 
responding.  As  Mr.  Whistler  has  suggested, 
nature  is  inartistic  and  must  be  dressed  up  a 
little.  I  made  the  heroes  and  heroines  of  my 
tales  better,  and  I  made  them  worse  as  the 
exigencies  demanded,  and  many  a  girl  has 
headed  into  fame  as  an  heiress  and  a  beauty 
because  I  could  put  my  hands  on  a  handsome 
photograph  of  her.  As  I  am  not  the  only 
shrewd  American  woman,  this  idea  fell  into 
the  minds  of  many  others. 

About  this  time  the  new  magazine,  whose 
editor  was  entirely  untrammeled  by  traditions 
of  any  sort,  and  who  was  unable  to  see  why  a 
monthly  magazine  should  be  less  frivolous  and 
enlivening  than  a  daily,  began  to  publish  a 
department  called,  'The  American  Beauty," 
and  I  was  one  of  its  most  useful  contributors. 
They  used  to  pay  me  five  or  ten  dollars  apiece 
for  those  photographs,  according  to  their 
rarity.  Alas!  How  few  of  them  were  rare! 
Photographs  and  cheques  "for  my  trouble," 
came  upon  me  in  an  avalanche.  The  originals 
protested  to  their  friends,  sometimes  even  to 
me  in  my  own  person,  when  the  very  photo 
graph  they  had  pressed  upon  "Mary  Clay"  was 
published.  And  they  used  to  say  very  unkind 


238  tfbe  Highroad 


things  about  the  owner  of  the  magazine  for  his 
impertinence  in  presenting  their  faces  to  the 
public. 

The  Sunday  newspapers  published  almost 
anything  I  sent.  What  did  they  care  for  the 
truth  or  falsity  of  a  story,  so  it  was  sensational 
or  amusing? 

When  I  could  get  no  American  photographs 
I  bought  them  from  foreign  photographers  by 
many  devious  ways.  Naturally,  that  there 
might  be  no  libel  suits,  the  American  stories 
were  fairly  innocuous,  vulgar  to  the  last  de 
gree  but  not  libellous.  But  the  royalty  and 
nobility  of  Europe  could  have  any  sort  of 
story  told  of  them,  limited  only  by  my  imagina 
tion.  And  when,  after  one  of  my  tales  about 
royalty  that  touched  the  English  common 
people  on  the  raw,  the  very  heir  of  the  throne 
changed  his  plans  and  went  to  visit  the  family 
concerning  whom  the  story  was  told,  I  grew 
reckless  with  my  new  power,  and  took  a  seri 
ous  chance.  I  saw  in  a  foreign  paper  that  a 
certain  well-known  peeress  was  about  to  add  a 
new  bulwark  to  her  husband's  family.  In  an 
other  part  of  the  paper  was  a  notice  of  that 
Vienna  physician  who  announced  his  power  to 
change  the  sex  of  infants  before  their  birth.  I 


I  Add  to  My  Income  -239 

wrote  a  rapid  account  of  this  peeress'  desire  to 
have  a  son,  and  said  that  the  doctor  had  sent  a 
young  assistant  to  England  to  prepare  the  food 
of  the  mother.  I  sent  this  story  to  my  former 
maid  in  Paris  and  asked  her  to  mail  it  there.  I 
gave  a  Paris  address.  The  paper  published 
the  story,  and  the  peeress,  luckily,  gave  birth 
to  a  boy.  The  story  was  reprinted  in  almost 
every  newspaper  in  the  world,  and  the  czar  of 
Russia  sent  for  the  Vienna  doctor!  And  I 
alone  of  all  the  world  could  laugh/ 

I  was  and  am  ashamed  of  the  newspaper 
connection.  It  was  tawdry  and  cheap  and 
undignified.  I  despised  myself  when  I  did 
that  work,  and  I  come  so  near  despising  my 
self  when  I  tell  of  it,  that  it  is  with  an 
effort  that  I  write  it  down.  It  is  as  though 
I  were  painting  my  own  portrait  in  oils  and 
found  myself  compelled  to  put  in  some  vul 
garity  of  feature  or  expression.  My  only 
excuse  is  (if  I  made  excuses,  which  I  do  not) 
that  I  needed  the  social  help  of  newspaper 
notice  at  first  and  after  that  the  money  that  was 
paid  for  my  articles.  I  earned  in  this  way 
what  would  have  been  the  yearly  income  upon 
almost  thirty  thousand  dollars;  for  the  yellow 
journals  and  magazines  paid  very  handsomely 


240  The  Highroad 

for  pictures  and  gossip  in  those  days,  before 
everybody  went  into  the  business  of  supplying 
them. 

I  even  sometimes  wrote  book  reviews. 
Everybody  has  some  vanities.  I  think  I  know 
a  good  book  when  I  read  it,  and  I  think  I  can 
tell  why  it  is  good.  But  I  wrote  only  one 
good  review  for  my  papers.  After  that  I  con 
fined  myself  to  personal  anecdotes  of  the 
authors.  The  authors  themselves  are  gener 
ally  happy  to  give  an  "illustrated  interview"  to 
anybody  and  to  have  photographs  made  of 
themselves  and  their  most  intimate  surround 
ings.  I  did  none  of  this  interviewing.  I  sug 
gested  authors  and  poses  to  the  papers  and 
then  rewrote  the  interviews.  I  am  sure  that 
many  novels  owed  much  to  my  artistic 
"reviews." 

Naturally,  I  immediately  saw  a  field  here  for 
myself.  I  would  write  a  novel  and  advertise  it 
by  sensational  'articles.  I  fairly  shivered  with 
nervous  delight  as  I  thought  of  it.  I  felt  as  a 
scientific  man  must  feel  when  he  sees  approach 
ing  a  beautiful  but  unexpected  end  of  an  ex 
periment.  But  like  the  scientific  man  more 
often  than  not,  I  had  made  a  slight  error  in  my 
calculations. 


I  Add  to  My  Income  241 

Primarily,  of  course,  I  had  no  message  for 
the  world  which  pushed  me  toward  pen  and 
ink.  After  the  fact,  authors  who  really  say 
anything  are  always  supplied  by  their  solemn 
admirers  with  a  preconceived  plan  to  add  to 
the  world's  knowledge.  I  have  never  discov 
ered  any  of  these.  All  artists  produce  their 
wares  for  money.  That  rule  has  been  so  gen 
eral  that  the  few  exceptions  merely  prove  it — 
and  these  exceptions  are  generally  working  for 
fame  and  doing  mediocre  work  because  it  is 
affected  work,  "over  the  heads  of  the  people." 
To  do  a  thing  professionally  means  to  do  it  for 
the  criticism  of  buyers.  But  after  I  had  the 
idea,  I  went  to  my  store  of  understanding  and 
I  took  of  my  best  material  to  make  my  book. 
I  would  write  a  real  book.  I  had  no  beauties 
of  style,  but  I  had  seen,  and  I  knew  that  the 
coherent  mind  cannot  express  itself  inco 
herently.  What  I  knew  I  could  say.  I  had 
wanted  a  real  story  of  New  York.  Why 
should  I  not  write  one?  I  remembered  Flau 
bert  and  Balzac.  I  will  follow  in  the  wake  of 
these  great  ones,  thought  I. 

As  I  look  back,  I  enjoyed  something  in  those 
months  that  should  have  warned  me  even  then. 
When  I  closed  my  door  and  sat  down  at  my 


242  T'he  Highroad 

desk,  I  ceased  to  act.  I  became  myself.  I 
wrote  down  not  the  expedient  thing,  but  what 
I  actually  knew. 

My  book  was  the  story  of  Mrs.  Wallingford. 
I  loved  every  page  of  the  manuscript  because 
on  every  page  was  something  I  knew  to  be 
true.  And  1  even  descended  to  the  sentimen 
tality  of  dreams.  "Mary  Clay"  would  not 
only  advertise  it,  but  the  great  critics  must 
understand  it — and  some  day  I  might  even 
claim  it  as  my  own. 

,  Ah,  but  I  was  inexperienced!  I  believed 
that  the  first  publisher  who  saw  it  must 'take  it. 
He  must  recognize  that  here  was  a  study  of 
a  present  condition  of  our  civilization, — a 
pound  of  real  living  flesh  cut  from  the  social 
body. 

After  all  my  experience  of  men,  after  all  my 
experience  of  the  world,  I  still  had  that  rag  of 
superstition  that  publishers  and  juries  are 
different  from  other  people,  and  I,  believing 
myself  intelligent,  expected  understanding. 
But  publishers  are  only — Oh,  Unenlightened 
Ones! — a  collection  of  business  men  whose 
constant  effort  it  is  to  supply  the  public  with 
what  they  know  they  want.  To  look  at  a  new 
thing  and  choose  it,  guessing  that  the  public 


I  Add  to  My  Income  243 

will  want  it,  is  the  part  of  the  psychologist,  the 
genius,  or  the  bankrupt. 

I  sent  my  story  to  a  publisher  who  kept  it 
seven  weeks.  Then  I  wrote  a  note  and  asked 
about  it.  He  returned  it.  The  enclosed  let 
ter  said  that  it  was  original  and  clever,  but 
there  was  not  enough  story.  Mrs.  Walling- 
ford  neither  married  nor  died,  and  she  was 
hardly  sufficiently  young  to  make  a  heroine. 
If  I  could  introduce  a  sweet  young  girl  as  a 
contrast,  make  the  young  girl  the  heroine  and 
show  her  against  the  shadowed  background  of 
Mrs.  Wallingford,  I  might  have  a  story. 

The  next  publisher  said  that  it  was  "clever." 
(They  all  know  that  useful  word.)  But  it  was 
not  moral.  The  better  class  of  American 
people  would  not  stand  a  book  in  which  im 
morality  was  not  used  as  a  lesson.  They  could 
see  no  lesson  in  the  story  of  Mrs.  Wallingford. 
She  did  not  suffer.  She  pointed  no  moral. 
Then  it  was  that  I  discovered  that  to  the 
average  human  being — and  a  publisher  who 
has  not  at  least  half  his  brain  in  sympathy 
with  the  average  could  not  make  a  living — 
physical  well-being  and  a  fair  place  in  society  is 
success.  That  a  fine  nature  goes  astray  through 
circumstances  and  loses  its  fineness  is  no  tra- 


244  fbe  Highroad 

gedy  to  the  public  so  long  as  the  body  is 
clothed  and  fed  and  of  fairly  good  repute. 
This  publisher  said  that  he  thought  the  story 
would  work  harm.  It  might  have  a  sort  of 
success  but  it  could  not  be  permanent. 

I  was  growing  meek  now,  and  I  studied  the 
publishers.  There  was  then  a  new  publishing 
house  made  up  of  young  men,  one  of  whom 
had  a  reputation  as  a  critic.  They  had  pub 
lished  a  number  of  commonplace  books,  but 
one  of  late  whose  vulgarity  was  startling.  It 
was  so  bad  in  every  way  that  the  critics  had 
hardly  touched  it,  but  it  was  selling  because 
the  author  did  not  know  it  was  vulgar,  and 
consequently  gave  his  readers  no  clue.  They 
read  as  ingenuously  as  he  wrote.  Here, 
thought  I,  is  a  publisher  who  cannot  say  that 
this  book  is  immoral.  At  least  he  cannot 
object  to  it  upon  that  account.  And  this  critic 
who  is  in  the  firm,  this  man  who  knows,  surely 
he  can  see  what  Mrs.  Wallingford  means.  He 
can  see  that  she  is  no  more  immoral  than  life 
itself,  because  she  is  actually  true  to  life. 
That  she  is  a  reality  is  a  pity,  and  that  she  is 
to  be  pitied.  That  she  does  not  suffer — that 
she  has  no  tears  for  herself — is  the  core  of  the 
tragedy.  Surely  he  can  see. 


I  Add  to  My  Income  245 

He  did.  He  wrote  me  that  they  would 
accept  the  book,  but  that  my  "frank  treatment 
of  the  relation  between  the  sexes  would  cut  my 
book  off  from  a  market  that  it  would  reach  if 
more  heed  were  paid  to  the  American  point  of 
view."  And  they  must  ask  me  to  omit  those 
passages  that  would  thus  give  offense.  I  was 
impatient  for  publication  now,  and  I  agreed. 
They  returned  the  manuscript  with  the  objec 
tionable  passages  marked.  I  am  wondering 
still  what  principle  the  editor  used  in  making 
his  corrections.  Then  and  there  I  saw  how 
absurd  a  task  he  had  given  himself — and  I  saw 
how  many  a  promising  book  becomes  inco 
herent.  Suppose  an  art  critic,  a  good  one, 
were  to  object  to  a  picture,  say  one  of  Ru 
bens'  or  Sargent's,  because  it  had  lines  of  bru 
tality.  What  would  the  world  say  if  the  critic 
undertook  to  paint  out  the  objectionable  lines 
and  shadows?  And  yet  this  same  thing  is 
done  in  publishing  houses  every  day. 

I  smoothed  over  the  rough  places,  and  let 
the  manuscript  go  back  to  them.  The  book 
was  accepted  and  was  to  be  brought  out  in  a 
month.  The  only  reason  a  contract  had  not 
been  signed  was  because  I  was  wondering  how 
I  was  to  sign  it.  And  then — one  day  I  had  a 


246  The  Highroad 

humble  letter  from  the  firm  asking  me  to  allow 
them  to  return  the  manuscript.  They  had  de 
cided  after  all  that  it  was  not  the  sort  of  book 
they  wanted. 

My  curiosity — simply  my  insatiable  curiosity 
to  understand  motives — caused  me  to  risk  a  visit 
to  that  publishing  house.  I  presented  myself 
as  the  friend  of  the  author,  not  giving  my 
name,  and  asked  for  an  explanation.  I  discov 
ered  that  the  business  man  of  the  firm  had 
finally  read  the  book  and  declined  it.  The 
critic,  whom  I  saw,  paid  the  tale  compliments, 
and  every  compliment  he  paid  it  damned  it  in 
my  own  eyes.  He  thought  it  a  remarkable 
book.  But  he  gently  told  me  that  it  was  too 
much  like  life.  In  it  I  was  being  natural — 
real — and  the  world  no  more  wants  the  naked 
truth  than  it  wants  uncooked  food.  The  busi 
ness  man  was  a  citizen  of  the  world  as  he  found 
it,  he  hinted. 

I  saw  life  like  that,  too,  I  remembered,  ex 
cept  for  a  curious  blunder  now  and  then.  This 
had  been  one  of  my  blunders.  I  took  the 
manuscript  home  and  reread  it,  and  I  laughed 
aloud.  1  reminded  myself  of  that  ridiculous 
creature  who  thinks  she  can  do  anything  by 
intuition.  Judge  Grant  has  since  shown  her 


I  Add  to  My  Income  247 

in  Selma  White.  My  theme  was  good  enough, 
and  it  was  true,  but  the  trouble  was  that  I  had 
not  had  the  technical  ability  to  do  an  original 
thing  and  do  it  well.  How  many  people  have? 
How  many  novels,  readable  novels,  do  you 
know  that  are  not  built  on  conventional  lines? 
The  unconventional  ones  are  generally  so 
badly  made  that  they  fall  to  pieces.  And 
after  all,  isn't  conventionality  morality?  Most 
people  are  unable  to  distinguish  between  them. 
As  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  reminded  us,  "Man 
lives  not  by  bread  alone,  but  mostly  by  catch 
words." 

I  took  the  manuscript  over  which  I  had 
dreamed,  into  which  I  had  put  what  I  knew  of 
life,  and  laid  it  away.  I  had  put  what  I  knew 
of  life  into  it  of  a  certainty,  but  I  had  put  it  in 
so  that  it  was  unable  to  express  itself  to  others. 
And  with  experience,  I  set  about  producing 
a  book  which  the  public  would  want — which  a 
publisher,  a  piece  of  the  public,  would  want. 

Mr.  Stanley  Weyman  had  discovered  Sully's 
Memoirs  not  long  before  this  and  was  making 
historical  novels  fashionable.  Mr.  Anthony 
Hope  had  a  moment's  inspiration  and  put  a 
modern  Englishman  into  a  setting  of  romance. 
I  did  not  wish  to  be  too  obvious,  and  yet  I  had 


248  The  Highroad 

learned  to  build  my  next  house  by  an  approved 
plan.  If  I  had  not  the  skill  to  be  original,  I 
must  find  a  type  to  imitate.  And  then — an 
idea  came  to  me.  Suppose  I  were  to  take  a 
well-known  writer's  style,  even  some  of  his 
well-known  stock  incidents  (they  all  have 
them)  and  make  an  anonymous  story  which 
would  seem  to  be  too  intimate  a  revelation  of 
a  woman's  heart  (it  must  be  a  woman,  people 
have  no  sympathy  with  a  man  with  a  "heart" 
unless  he  be  a  poet)  to  allow  her  to  sign  her 
name  to  it.  I  could  probably  gather  about  my 
"heart  experience"  all  of  the  author's  readers, 
and  some  others.  The  anonymity,  with  my 
newspaper  advertising,  my  scientific  probing  of 
the  authorship,  would  attract  attention.  I 
spent  days  hunting  for  a  writer  who  might  have 
a  "heart  experience,"  and  at  last  I  discovered 
her.  It  was  a  painful,  intimate  story,  but  one 
which  was  known  to  many, — one  upon  which 
she  had  always  kept  a  dignified  silence.  I 
bought  every  one  of  her  books  and  studied 
them  carefully  and  then  I  blocked  out  my  tale — 
her  tale — and  wrote  it  in  a  high  key.  It  was 
eminently  respectable,  and  yet  there  was  a 
suggestion  all  through  it  that  the  conventions 
might  be  broken.  Sometimes  when  I  finished 


I  Add  to  My  Income  249 

a  page  that  raved  like  a  respectable  Zaza,  I 
almost  felt  as  though  I  meant  it,  as  though 
those  sad,  sad  experiences  had  been  mine. 
Some  astute  critics  have  questioned  since  if  the 
story  was  real.  Here  and  there  they  have 
caught  a  gleam  of  humorous  exaggeration;  but 
never  the  buying  public. 

The  story  was  accepted  at  once  by  one  of  the 
great  magazines  which  was  seeking  some  way 
to  keep  even  with  the  more  vulgar  journals,  and 
coming  under  such  auspices  the  art  was  ac 
cepted  as  good  art.  I  saw  to  it  that  public 
curiosity  was  whetted  by  full  pages  in  the  Sun 
day  papers,  and  the  author's  sorrows  were 
presently  discussed  by  the  ladies'  reading  club 
in  Fowlersburg.  Many  things,  however,  hap 
pened  before  that  came  to  pass. 


250  I'he  Highroad 


XXII 

W 'e  See  Something  of  New  York  Society 

I  had  sublet  my  little  apartment,  and  I  had 
allowed  my  acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Wallingford 
to  become  more  and  more  formal,  although  Rob 
ert  kept  it  up,  I  felt  sure.  I  am  also  sure  she 
never  missed  me  and  hardly  had  an  idea  that 
I  had  dropped  her,  although  she  had  enjoyed 
my  society.  Her  hold  on  women  friends  was 
lax  and  indolent.  I  had  reason  to  believe  that 
Robert  saw  her  frequently. 

Through  Mrs.  Dodds  and  other  introduc 
tions,  we  began  to  go  out  more  and  more.  My 
first  move  after  I  was  settled  in  New  York  had 
been  to  unite  myself  with  Mr.  Bliss'  church, 
and  to  take  Genevieve  there  with  me  when  I 
could.  Mr.  Bliss  was  excessively  proud  of  our 
old  friendship,  and  spoke  of  me  often  to  the 
members  of  his  fashionable  congregation.  I  was 
always  at  his  church  on  Sunday  mornings,  listen 
ing  with  an  approving  intelligence  to  ideas  which 
I  often  recognized.  Sometimes  they  were  my 
own;  but  oftener  they  were  Stendhal's  or 


Something  0/*New  York  Society    251 

Kenan's  or  Tourguenieff's,  first  made  into  a  ra 
gout  by  me,  and  rechaufft  by  Mr.  Bliss. 

Itwas  very  seldom  that  I  could  take  Genevieve 
with  me.  I  could  influence  her  in  no  ways  except 
the  most  primitive.  She  was  headstrong  and 
unreasonable  to  the  point  of  maliciousness,  it 
would  seem,  but  rather, it  was  to  the  point  of 
ignorance.  A  cigarette,  a  French  novel  of  the 
most  abominable  type  were  her  Sunday  morn 
ing  relaxations.  Sometimes  I  comforted  my 
self  with  the  reflection  that  she  felt  the 
antagonism  for  me  which  I  felt  for  her,  and 
that  with  the  folly  of  youth  and  ignorance  she 
was  flaunting  her  worst  self  before  me,  out  of 
a  silly  desire  to  hurt  and  annoy  me.  Surely 
she  had  not  behaved  like  this  with  Mrs.  Dodds. 
When  I  saw  that  the  friendship  between  them, 
while  not  intense,  was  not  broken,  I  knew  that 
at  least  Genevieve  knew  how  not  to  be  entirely 
impossible.  I  discovered,  too,  that  Mrs. 
Dodds  had  been  wonderfully  impressed,  as  are 
all  Americans,  by  our  titled  friends,  and 
probably  Genevieve  owed  some  toleration  to 
that.  Is  it  not  quaint  that  the  world,  literally 
the  whole  world  will  call  a  man  by  a  certain 
name  and  then  grow  cold  with  awe  before  him 
because  he  is  known  by  it?  "Duke,"  "Lord," 


252  The  Highroad 

"Prince" — what  are  they,  anyway?  Simply  a 
gift  from  the  tongues  of  the  people. 

It  is  a  part  of  human  nature  to  make  a  god 
of  some  sort  and  worship  it.  If  a  people  has 
nothing  better  it  will  take  the  mud  from  under 
its  feet  and  fashion  it  into  something  to  bow 
before.  But  all  the  time,  underneath,  we  all 
know  that  when  we  get  ready  to  cry  out  alto 
gether  that  the  fetich  is  merely  clay,  the 
godship  will  disappear.  Who  cares  now  for 
the  thunders  of  mighty  Jupiter?  One  can  blas 
pheme  only  the  God  that  is  behind  the  high 
altar  of  to-day.  You  may  spit  upon  yester 
day's  god  unrebuked. 

Lucile  had  been  gracious  enough,  but  not 
too  ready,  to  her  sister's  new  acquaintance, 
and  Mrs.  Dodds  had  been  impressed. 

I  discovered  that  there  were  just  now  two 
women  whom  it  was  necessary  to  know,  to 
bring  to  my  house,  before  I  was  firmly  estab 
lished  in  New  York  society. 

One,  Mrs.  Etten,  was  a  woman  of  enormous 
wealth  who  had  climbed  up  to  her  present 
place  over  old  prejudices  and  who  was  insolent 
with  the  power  that  had  come  to  her.  She  was 
vulgar  in  her  appearance,  with  a  short  un 
graceful  body  and  an  animal-like  nose.  Her 


Something  of  New  York^  Society    253 

hair  was  dyed  a  shade  of  dark  red  to  hide  the 
gray  that  had  begun  to  appear  in  it,  and  she 
was  maquiltie. 

The  other  woman  was  the  sister  of  William 
B.  Clancy,  married  to  a  man  her  equal  in 
wealth  and  with  children  who  had  married  into 
the  old  and  influential  families  in  Boston  and 
Philadelphia  as  well  as  New  York,  and  one 
daughter  still  with  her.  Mrs.  Thomas  was  a 
woman  not  unlike  the  late  Queen  Victoria, — 
not  very  clever,  obstinate,  sure  of  herself, 
vain,  and  conventional.  She  was,  I  plainly 
saw,  invincible  because  invulnerable.  She 
utterly  ignored  us — seemingly  never  seeing  us. 
Genevieve  was  of  a  type  which  she  had  plainly 
shown  many  times  was  distasteful  to  her.  And 
although  I  was  the  last  person  to  blame  her  for 
that,  it  made  my  task  infinitely  harder. 

Mrs.  Etten  was  easy  to  approach,  because 
she  had  in  her  daily  existence  what  she 
believed  to  be  a  secret.  She  was  something 
like  Lady  Flora  Hastings,  with  a  difference  of 
less  breeding.  Feeling  insecure  (it  was  that 
psychologist  of  forty-two  years  before  the  birth 
of  Christ,  Publius  Syrus,  who  wrote  down:  "A 
guilty  conscience  never  feels  secure"),  she 
was  ready  to  give  way  anywhere. 


254  ¥be  Highroad 


Character  is  destiny,  and  it  did  not  require 
a  seer  to  see  that  Mrs.  Etten  was  not  solid  in 
her  place.  I  had,  by  chance,  the  opportunity 
to  precipitate  the  scandal  which  came  upon  her 
a  few  years  later,  but  I  did  not  take  it.  Why 
should  I  ?  I  have  no  time  to  waste  upon  idle 
spite,  no  time  to  cease  rolling  my  stone  up  hill 
to  cast  down  another.  She  was  to  me  already 
off  the  board  and  one  for  whose  favor  I  cared 
not  at  all. 

With  Mr.  Clancy's  sister  it  was  different.  I 
must  have  her  acquaintance  at  least. 

To  be  seen  at  her  house  was  to  have  a  sort 
of  cachet  of  social  respectability.  I  never  was 
quite  able  to  discover  why  she,  in  all  New 
York,  had  this  dignity,  but  so  long  as  every 
one  agreed  that  it  was  hers,  it  was.  Notwith 
standing  she  knew  all  about  Lucile's  position 
in  London,  we  were  not  asked  to  her  house  at 
once.  And  as  the  winter  went  on  I  began  to 
fear  that  we  were,  through  Genevieve's  folly  at 
Newport,  I  felt  sure,  to  rest  just  on  the  edge  of 
what  is  known  as  real  New  York  society. 
That  was  a  situation  which  I  felt  that  I  could 
not  tolerate. 

Studio  receptions  were  just  becoming  fash 
ionable,  and  there  was  talk  of  "American  art." 


Something  o/*New  York  Society    255 

American  art  just  then  consisted  in  taking  up 
some  portrait  painter  who  was  socially  eligible 
and  having  him  make  pretty  presentments  of 
ladies  in  evening  dress.  The  sitters  generally 
selected  the  gowns  and  poses,  and  patronized 
the  artists.  It  has  always  been  so.  Romney 
and  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  went  through  the 
same  experience.  In  the  studio  of  Romney  all 
the  sitters  insisted  on  looking  like  Emma,  and 
Sir  Joshua  plaintively  complained  that  after  he 
painted  Nellie  Farren  all  the  duchesses  desired 
to  be  portrayed  with  roguish  eyes. 

I  had  an  idea.  I  wrote  to  the  young  artist 
in  Paris  who  had  painted  my  mother's  portrait 
from  that  old  crayon,  and  told  him  that  I 
thought  there  was  a  field  for  him  in  New  York. 
I  might  be  mistaken,  but  I  thought  that  here 
was  something  I  could  add  to  my  forces. 

He  came,  and  painted  Genevieve,  and  he  did 
for  her  exactly  what  he  had  done  for  my 
mother's  picture.  He  idealized  her.  He 
kept,  in  some  intangible  way,  that  physical 
force  which  was  her  only  possession,  but  he 
seemed  by  some  necromancy  (the  beautiful 
necromancy  of  his  art!)  to  make  it  into  a 
classic  thing.  The  Helens,  the  Cleopatras, 
not  of  reality,  but  of  tradition,  might  have  had 


256  The  Highroad 

an  allure  such  as  this.  He  painted  Mrs. 
Dodds,  and  me.  I  let  him  have  his  way  with 
my  portrait,  because  I  was  curious  to  see  what 
he  would  do  with  it.  He  painted  me  in  a  plain 
white  satin  gown,  sitting  on  a  marble  seat, 
something  like  those  in  the  garden  atVerriere. 
That  portrait  has  never  had  a  frame,  and  it 
reposes  in  swathings  in  the  house  here  in  West 
Virginia.  I  think  it  is  the  woman  who  sits 
there  on  that  bench  who  incited  this  narrative. 
No  one  has  seen  it  except  the  artist  and  my 
self.  And  yet  it  represents  a  much  more 
beautiful  and  intelligent  woman  than  I  ever 
was. 

After  it  was  finished,  I  asked  for  it,  and  sug 
gested  that  the  artist  do  something  for  exhibi 
tion.  Tears  came  into  his  eyes.  "It  is  the  great 
est  thing  I  shall  ever  do,"  he  said.  "And  it  will 
delight  me  if  posterity  says  so."  I  returned: 
"But  I  want  something  for  New  York.  Do 
not  mistake  New  York  of  to-day  for  the  voice 
of  Fame." 

I  appeared  on  a  canvas  at  his  exhibition  in  a 
violet  velvet  gown,  and  the  portrait  was  chiefly 
gown, — a  sublimated  still-life. 

One  of  the  old  magazines  reproduced  the 
portraits  with  an  article  upon  the  talented 


Something  of  New  York  Society     257 

artist.  The  editor  of  the  magazine  was  of  the 
class  which  was  just  then  scorning  "The 
American  Beauty"  department  of  the  cheap 
magazine,  and  loudly  deploring  the  "vitiating 
of  taste,"  the  "lowering  of  the  standards"  of 
the  public,  as  exhibited  by  its  popularity. 
But  as  no  magazine  was  ever  published  for 
any  other  purpose  than  to  produce  a  revenue, 
the  "popular"  methods  were  grasped  at,  and 
the  editor  waS  glad  of  an  excuse  to  reproduce 
the  portraits  of  "society"  under  the  pretence 
of  art.  My  artist  was  really  so  clever  that  the 
women  who  wished  to  appear  at  their  best  em 
ployed  him,  and  my  portrait  appeared  facing 
that  of  Mrs.  Thomas. 

Another  one  of  my  advantages  came  in  my 
dinners. 

Americans,  generally,  have  never  cared  much 
about  dinner  giving  for  two  reasons:  a  dinner  is 
almost  as  expensive  as  a  dancing  party,  and  at 
that  time  very  few  of  even  the  wealthiest 
people  had  servants  who  were  able  to  carry  a 
dinner  to  a  triumphant  conclusion.  It  has 
been  within  a  comparatively  short  time  that 
the  brisk  short  menu  has  taken  the  place  of 
that  old,  strained,  elaborate  dinner  which  no 
body  but  Mr.  Ward  McAllister  ever  enjoyed. 


258  The  Highroad 

Certainly  not  a  hostess  who  sat  in  fear  and 
trembling  of  what  the  next  course  might  bring 
forth. 

The  second  reason  for  not  enjoying  a  dinner 
was  that  they  didn't  know  what  to  talk 
about.  For  all  our  present-day  smartness, 
American  society  is  not  so  very  far  from  the 
Christmas  and  Thanksgiving  turkey  feasts 
where  husbands  went  out  with  their  wives. 
And  neither  is  England!  Old  people  in  Eng 
land  have  told  me  of  the  dinners  at  Windsor 
Castle  in  the  Queen's  youth  that  were  as  bour 
geois  as  anything  social  New  York  was  show 
ing.  The  Queen,  in  those  days,  used  to  sit  at 
a  table  after  dinner  and  play  solitaire,  and  it 
was  considered  sufficient  entertainment  to  her 
guests  to  see  her  do  it. 

It  was  no  wonder  that  Mr.  McAllister  be 
came  a  sort  of  social  mentor  in  New  York. 
He  came  from  a  part  of  the  country  where 
gaiety  at  least  was  considered  well  bred,  and 
they  had  been  entertaining  in  some  fashion 
ever  since  they  had  four  walls. 

In  France  and  in  England  I  had  learned  to 
dine — and  so  had  Genevieve.  She  had  the 
technique  of  the  game.  The  things  she  said 
might  be  a  trifle  impertinent,  but  she  talked, 


Something  of  New  York  Society    259 

and  she  did  not  devote  herself  to  the  man  who 
took  her  out.  And  I  knew,  thanks  to  Prol- 
mann,  how  to  give  a  dinner.  I  never  learned 
how  not  to,  for  I  had  gone  from  Fowlersburg 
to  Prolmann.  It  was  I  who  first  threw  aside 
the  half-dozen  silly  wines,  and  clung  to  cham 
pagne  after  the  soup,  and  it  was  I  who  banished 
pastry  trash.  When  I  came,  chicken  salad  was 
still  a  dinner  dish  in  New  York.  And  it  was  at 
my  house  in  Gramercy  Park  that  an  opera  singer 
first  sang  after  one  of  my  dinners,  and  after 
another  two  distinguished  French  actors  gave 
a  little  dialogue.  The  opera  singer  I  had 
known  a  long  time.  He  had  been  a  guest  on 
Prolmann' s  yacht  one  year.  The  French  ac 
tors  had  met  a  ba  dseason  in  America  and  were 
willing  to  advertise  themselves.  It  is  impos 
sible  to  get  even  "coon"  songs  on  those  terms 
now,  but  that  sort  of  entertaining  was  new 
then  and  it  created  a  sensation  which  my 
newspaper  made  much  of.  I  was  supposed  to 
have  paid  all  of  these  artists  incredible  sums. 
How  I  should  have  loved  to  have  done  so! 
Mean  economies  never  appealed  to  me.  It 
has  always  been  my  wish  to  pay  more  for  a 
thing  than  it  is  worth,  because  I  despise  an 
obligation. 


160  The  Highroad 

I  acquired  a  reputation  for  having  an  in 
comparable  chef  whom  I  had  brought  from 
abroad  (such  was  the  rarity  of  delicious, 
hot,  appetizing  courses  quickly  following  each 
other),  and  for  an  atmosphere  of  smartness. 
The  last  came  from  the  fact  that  my  son,  my 
daughter  and  myself  knew  what  sort  of  con 
versation  to  serve  with  the  food.  And  it  became 
a  house  to  which  men,  business  men,  did  not 
have  to  be  dragged  in  chains,  because  they 
were  well  fed  and  amused. 

There  was  one  mistake  I  almost  made  about 
this  time.  I  had  thought  that  I  might  bring  into 
New  York  the  English  and  French  fashion  of 
entertaining  celebrities,  literary,  political  or 
scientific.  Fortunately,  before  I  had  the  op 
portunity  to  meet  them  I  learned  what  a  mistake 
it  would  have  been.  To  belong  to  the 
"Literary  Set"  in  New  York  is  to  be  hopeless — 
to  be  forever  cut  off  even  from  Mrs.  Thomas' 
largest  balls.  And,  anyway,  even  in  Eng 
land  and  France,  literature  is  indulged  in  sel 
dom.  Most  writers  are  impossible.  Their 
energies  have  gone  into  another  channel  than 
that  of  what  I  might  call  bodily  expres 
sion.  They  do  not  know  how  to  dress,  they 
are  seldom  pretty  to  look  at,  and  I  have  met 


Something  of  New  York  Society     261 

very  few  who  have  any  idea  of  conversation. 
They  despise  "society"  because  it  makes  them 
uncomfortable.  It  doesn't  seem  worth  while 
to  them;  they  have  no  key  to  its  meanings. 
For  life  and  literature  are  reality  and  arti 
ficiality.  Art  to  be  art  must  be  a  symbol.  But 
that  is  something  it  takes  experience  to  dis 
cover. 

Bit  by  bit  I  crept  into  the  eye  of  the  world. 
There  was  never  a  moment  when  I  could  have 
been  said  to  "push."  I  suppose  when  a 
mushroom  pushes  up  a  paving  stone,  the  slab 
considers  that  it  lifted  itself  out  of  politeness 
to  a  thing  so  tender  and  helpless. 

I  saw  as  little  of  Genevieve  as  she  could 
arrange,  but  one  day  she  came  to  me  of  her 
own  accord.  It  was  almost  the  first  time  she 
had  done  such  a  thing  since  she  had  left  the 
convent — since  her  intimacy  with  Lili. 

"Do  you  know  that  Bob  is  being  talked 
about  with  Mrs.  Wallingford  ?"  she  asked 
abruptly. 

"I  am  sure  you  are  mistaken,"  I  answered 
gently.  "How  absurd  a  story!  Mrs.  Walling 
ford  is  old  enough  to  be  Robert's  mother." 

"Baby-snatching  is  not  unknown  even  in 
New  York.  They  say  she  is  infatuated  with 


262  'The  Highroad 

him  and  is  throwing  off  even  Clancy  on  his 
account, — that  she  intends  to  marry  Bob." 

"I  shall  believe  no  such  ridiculous  tale." 
And  I  took  up  my  book  again. 

"Cela  rriest  tgal!"  Genevieve  said,  and  then 
she  turned  to  me  swiftly,  "I  suppose  the  young 
fool  knows  that  he  hasn't  a  penny?" 

"That  is  a  fact  you  must  all  know,"  I  said, 
and  we  looked  at  each  other  squarely  in  the 
face  for  a  fraction  of  a  second,  curtains  up. 
Then  I  went  on.  "Of  course  what  I  have  is 
yours,  and  in  time  will  be  valuable.  But  Mr. 
Less,  who  was  one  of  our  executors,  tells  me 
that  it  may  be  many  many  years  before  our 
coal  lands  will  be  valuable." 

"I  thought  it  was  tobacco,"  the  girl  sneered. 
"It  used  to  be  tobacco." 

"It  was  always  coal,"  I  said  patiently. 

After  Christmas  my  boy  came  to  me  and  told 
me  that  he  did  not  care  to  go  back  to  college. 
He  said  he  wanted  to  go  into  business. 

"But  where?     How?"  I  asked. 

"I  do  not  know.  But — college  here  seems 
young  after  Europe.  I  do  not  feel  like  a  boy, 
and  many  of  the  studies  there  seem  absurd  to 
me.  I  have  already  read,  for  my  own  enter 
tainment,  many  of  the  books  they  study,  and  I 


Something  o/'New  York  Society    263 

have  read  a  good  many  of  the  books  our  lec 
tures  are  made  out  of.  I  am  making  good 
friends  and  all  that  sort  of  thing — but  I  am  not 
preparing  for  the  life  I  want — and — we  cannot 
afford  it." 

This  was  the  time  to  ask  if  he  wanted  to  take 
up  new  responsibilities,  but  I  did  not.  Some 
how  I  understood  Robert.  He  soothed  my 
nerves  as  no  other  child  of  mine  ever  did.  In 
some  vague  way  I  felt  that  he  was  to  be  trusted 
with  his  own  destiny.  And  I  trusted  my  own 
instincts.  Given  certain  premises,  certain 
results  are  bound  to  follow.  This  is  no  hap 
hazard  world. 

I  did  not  mention  the  story  Genevieve  had 
told  me  to  him,  but  she  did.  He  met  it  with  a 
laugh,  and  a  "Who  knows?  Mrs.  Wallingford 
is  a  charming  woman,  but  she  wouldn't  look  at 
a  chap  like  me." 

"If  she  did,"  said  my  daughter,  "you  would 
both  starve  to  death.  You  couldn't  very  well 
p  live  on  a  fire-escape  even  if  it  were  twined  with 
morning  glories." 

One  morning  soon  after,  I  heard  Gene 
vieve  say  that  she  had  received  a  message  from 
Mrs.  Dodds  and  was  going  to  join  her  for  a 
restaurant  dinner.  She  drove  away  in  the  han- 


264  The  Highroad 

som  she  had  sent  for,  looking  very  sophisti 
cated  and  like  a  fashion-plate  in  her  black  cloth 
gown  with  an  enormous  bunch  of  violets  pinned 
to  the  plain  corsage.  It  went  through  my 
mind  idly  that  the  violets  must  have  come 
from  somewhere,  because  it  was  quite  outside 
of  character  for  Genevieve  to  buy  flowers. 
Heredity  is  a  curious  thing.  Genevieve  was 
masterful  in  many  ways,  but  she  had  some 
small,  mean  economies,  and  she  was  intensely 
practical.  She  saw  no  reason  for  having  a 
fresh  napkin  at  every  meal,  nor  a  fresh  towel 
at  every  bath.  Nor  was  it  possible  for  me  to 
insist  upon  a  bath  for  her  every  morning. 
They  had  not  demanded  that  at  her  convent, 
and  there  was  no  inherent  daintiness  in  her 
that  required  it.  But  Genevieve  was  in  the 
back  of  my  mind  now. 

Robert  and  I  sat  down  to  dinner  alone,  and 
I  let  him  talk  on  in  his  gentle  well-bred  way 
of  the  new  pictures  at  Durand-Ruel's,  of  the 
dozens  of  light  scraps  of  nonsense  which  he 
heard,  heaven  knows  how,  for  he  went  out 
very  little  and  belonged  to  no  clubs.  He  had 
devoted  himself  almost  exclusively  to  Mrs. 
Wallingford. 

We  took  our  coffee  cups  and  went  into  the 


Something  of  New  York  Society    265 

library  and  I  enjoyed  the  pleasure  of  look 
ing  at  the  light  falling  on  his  handsome  blonde 
head  with  its  good  contour,  its  carriage  of  assur 
ance.  I  was  at  work  on  the  story  of  Mrs. 
Wallingford  then,  and  I  wanted  to  talk  to  him 
about  it  but  that  1  did  not  dare. 

Suddenly  he  stopped  stirring  his  coffee  and 
put  it  down  untasted. 

"How  about  Genevieve  and  Babcock?"  he 
asked  abruptly.  "Does  he  truly  want  to 
marry  her?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  I  said.  "It  may  be;  it 
doubtless  is  one  of  those  affairs  in  which  a  man 
will  do  anything  to  gain  a  woman,  but  if  he 
fails  he  will  pretend  to  himself  that  he  never 
was  truly  in  earnest.  He  isn't  a  continental. 
He  is  very  much  American — New  Yorker.  He 
will  never  tell  me  he  wants  to  marry  Genevieve 
until  he  has  told  her  and  it  is  all  arranged.  I 
do  not  believe  either  that  Babcock  cares  to  be 
rejected." 

"Where  is  Genevieve?" 

"With  Mrs.  Dodds." 

"Do  you  mind  telephoning  up  there  and  dis 
covering  if  she  is?" 

I  sat  up  straight  in  my  chair.  "What  do 
you  mean?" 


266  'The  Highroad 

"I  mean  that  I  saw  Ward  in  town  this  after 
noon,  and  he  avoided  me." 

"Why  should  he?" 

"That's  it,  why  should  he?" 

"Robert,"  I  said,  "you  do  not  mean  to  in 
sinuate  that  Genevieve  and  Chester  Ward 
would  meet  anywhere?  Why  should  they? 
Chester  can  come  here." 

"He  may  not  care  to." 

"Why?" 

Robert  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  am  sure 
I  do  not  know.  But  I  imagine  that  a  man  and 
woman  like  Genevieve  and  Ward  would  be 
happier  unrestrained." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  hardly  know  what  I  mean,  but  when  he  is 
here  you  plainly  show  that  you  do  not  care  to 
leave  those  two  together,  and  it  seems  to  me 
that  they  like  to  be  together." 

"Why  shouldn't  they  say  so?  I  should 
rather  that  they  married  each  other — I  suppose 
it  will  come  to  that — than  to  meet  like  this." 

"I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  they  want  to  marry 
each  other.  Does  Genevieve  seem  to  you  the 
sort  of  girl  to  whom  marriage,  particularly  mar 
riage  to  a  man  like  Ward,  would  appeal?  Can 
you  imagine  Genevieve  living  in  a  Washington 


Something  tf/'New  York  Society    267 

third-class  hotel  with  two  or  three  children,  or 
down  in  West  Virginia?" 

"But  Chester  is  getting  along  in  the  world" — 
I  stopped.  What  was  the  use  of  arguing  with 
Robert  concerning  his  sister.  I  went  to  the 
telephone  and  asked  to  speak  with  Mrs. 
Dodds.  She  had  gone  to  Lakewood  that 
morning,  one  of  her  servants  replied. 

I  hesitated  at  the  telephone,  wondering 
whether  or  not  to  tell  Robert.  Could  it  do 
any  good  to  ruin  all  his  faith  in  his  sister? 
Would  he  be  clever  enough  to  stick  to  her  even 
though  he  knew  that  she  was — what?  A  liar 
anyway. 

When  I  came  back  into  the  library  Rob 
ert  was  walking  up  and  down,  his  hands  in  his 
pockets.  The  expanse  of  white  in  his  even 
ing  dress  was  very  becoming  to  him. 

"My  dear,"  I  said,  "I  fear  that  you  are  in  a 
bad  atmosphere." 

"And  why?" 

"You  are  generalizing — going  too  readily 
from  the  special  example  you  happen  to 
know " 

"Was  she  with  Mrs.  Dodds?" 

"Certainly,"  I  answered. 

"I  beg  her  pardon,"  he  said. 


268  'The  Highroad 

I  debated  also  whether  or  not  I  should  tell 
Genevieve  what  I  knew.  I  hated  the  thought 
of  it.  But  here  was  something  we  could  not 
run  away  from.  As  a  matter  of  fact  running 
away  is  always  useless.  A  character  cannot 
be  run  away  from.  We  carry  the  weaknesses 
which  make  new  failings  along  with  us. 

Genevieve  came  in  after  eleven  o'clock,  and 
I  followed  her  into  her  bed-room.  I  knew 
that  anywhere  else  she  would  leave  me.  I 
opened  the  conversation  at  once.  She  was  a 
little  flushed,  her  violets  faded  and  sagging 
from  her  corsage,  shadows  under  her  eyes.  I 
wonder  how  many  mothers  have  faced  that 
aspect  in  a  daughter. 

"I  allowed  Robert  to  believe  that. you  were 
with  Mrs.  Dodds, "  I  said.  She  started  and 
then  she  laughed. 

"That  was  good  of  you — if  it  made  any  sort 
of  difference." 

"If  you  want  to  see  Chester  Ward,  why  do 
you  not  see  him  here?" 

She  sat  down,  crossed  her  knees,  scratched  a 
match  on  the  sole  of  her  shoe  and  lighted  a 
cigarette. 

"Because  I  wanted  to  dine  out  with  him, 
without  discussion,  I  suppose." 


Something  0/~New  York  Society    269 

"And  why  do  you  suppose " 

"Oh,  pshaw,  what's  the  use!  Chester  and  I 
suit  each  other.  You  do  not  want  him  here; 
you  show  it  plainly.  He  isn't  the  sort  you 
want  around."  1  could  feel  myself  growing 
cold. 

"Do  you  want  to  marry  him?" 

"Ah — that's  a  different  thing.  I  am  not  sure 
that  I  care  to  marry  anybody." 

"But" — I  spoke  as  reasonably  and  calmly  as 
I  could — "it  is  necessary  that  you  should 
marry.  It  is  not  a  pleasant  thing  to  call  your 
attention  to  that  necessity,  but  then  marriage 
is  the  natural,  the  happiest  destiny  for  a 
woman." 

Genevieve  looked  at  me  oddly  through  the 
smoke  that  wreathed  her  face. 

"Do  not  believe  it.  Not  one  woman  in  a 
million  wants  to  be  married — wants  a  husband. 
She  marries  for  freedom — and — I  fancy  you 
have  heard  the  other  theories  on  the  subject." 
She  leaned  down  and  unfastened  her  shoes, 
kicking  them  off,  and  showing  her  well-shaped 
foot  in  its  open-work  stocking. 

"Genevieve,"  I  said  gravely,  "we  are  poor, 
and  it  is  necessary  for  us  to  understand  each 
other.  I  cannot  let  you  make  a  wreck  of  vour 


ijo  'The  Highroad 

life.  If  you  do  not  care  for  a  conventional  life 
let  us  give  up  trying.  If  you  want  to  marry 
Chester  Ward — if  it  is  your  ambition  to  spend 
the  rest  of  your  life  in  boarding-houses  with 
him,  marry  him  and  be  done  with  it.  I  shall 
send  for  him  to-morrow  and  tell  him  so." 

To  my  amazement,  Genevieve  sprang  up, 
her  face  scarlet.  "That  you  shall  not  do.  I 
will  not  be  flung  at  any  man's  head.  We  are 
not  in  France." 

'Oh,  then,"  I  said,  "he  has  not  done  you 
the  honor  to  ask  you  to  marry  him?  It  is  for 
that  reason  he  does  not  come  here.  I  think 
there  is  all  the  more  reason  for  my  seeing 
him." 

"I  tell  you,  if  you  speak  to  Chester  Ward 
about  me  I  shall  leave  this  house,  and  you 
will  be  sorry  the  last  day  you  live." 

"You  have  given  me  reason  for  being  that 
already,"  I  said.  I  am  sure  I  was  not  wise. 
There  must  have  been  a  way  to  approach  my 
child.  But  I  did  not  know  it.  I  was  astounded 
at  the  turn  affairs  had  taken,  and  running 
through  my  mind  was  a  wonder  at  Chester. 
Genevieve  became  a  poorer  thing  than  I  had 
thought  her,  when  he  did  not  want  to  marry 
her. 


Something  0/"New  York  Society     271 

I  wrote  to  Chester  the  next  day;  I  asked  him 
over  to  dinner.  He  came,  and  watching  them, 
I  could  but  believe  that  these  two  felt  a  strong 
attraction  for  one  another.  Genevieve  was  un 
like  herself.  I  could  see  that  she  wanted  to 
keep  me  away  from  him.  And  continually 
between  them  were  those  glances,  those  move 
ments  which  betray  the  closest  intimacy. 

It  was  with  dismay  that  I  realized  our  situa 
tion.  What  possibility  had  I  of  extricating 
ourselves?  There  is  no  combination  of  circum 
stances  which  can  ruin  a  human  being  unless 
they  have  their  inception  in  his  own  person 
ality.  Genevieve  was,  practically  speaking, 
my  own  personality.  It  was  for  her  I  worked. 
Her  success  was  mine;  her  failure  and  dis 
grace  were  my  failure  and  disgrace.  I  suppose 
I  hated  her  as  a  drunkard  hates  his  uncontrol 
lable  vice.  And  yet  I  must  save  her. 


272  'The  Highroad 

XXIII 

/  Make  a  Discovery 

Chester's  attitude  toward  Genevieve  puzzled 
me.  I  know  that  there  are  some  men  who 
have  so  little  respect  for  themselves  that  when 
a  woman  begins  to  admire  or  love  one  of  them, 
he  immediately  despises  her,  considers  her  of 
poor  taste  and  judgment  for  setting  up  in  her 
heart  what  he  knows  to  be  so  poor  a  thing. 
But  after  seeing  Genevieve  and  Chester  to 
gether  I  could  not  believe  that  this  was  true  of 
him.  There  was  something  else.  Chester 
seemed  to  be  fond  of  Genevieve,  to  have  an 
affection,  a  friendship  for  her.  There  is  a 
reason  for  every  departure  from  the  normal, 
the  usual.  A  brook  does  not  alter  its  current 
unless  there  is  an  obstruction  in  the  way.  If 
one  could  only  know,  how  often  we  should 
change  our  feelings  toward  some  sinner!  A 
little  sin  away  back  in  the  beginning  may  change 
the  current  of  a  life. 

There  was,  too,  something  apologetic  in 
Chester's  attitude  toward  me.  And  Genevieve 
loved  him — I  could  see  that  she  did.  Whatever 


I  Make  a  Discovery  273 

her  flippancy  of  speech  might  be,  I  saw  that 
here,  if  ever,  was  the  solvent  for  her  hard 
nature;  because  it  is  the  truth  that  our  own 
feelings,  our  own  emotions  are  what,  save  us  or 
undo  us.  The  inspirers  of  our  moods  have 
little  to  do  with  it.  Hate  is  as  corrosive  to  the 
spirit  when  the  object  is  bad  as  when  it  is  good. 
Love — true  affection — when  by  chance  it  is 
found,  expands  even  such  a  nature  as  Gene- 
vieve's. 

I  felt  sure,  too,  that  Genevieve  had  not  told 
Chester  of  my  discovery.  Her  reluctance  to 
do  so,  the  difficulty  she  must  have  found  in 
doing  so,  was  the  first  womanly  trait  I  had 
ever  seen  in  her. 

But,  how  long  would  it  last — even  though  the 
obstacle  could  be  removed?  And  what  was 
that  which  made  them  hide  their  affection 
instead  of  flaunting  it?  Genevieve  was  surely 
not  so  worldly  wise. 

Naturally,  in  this  crisis  (and  it  was  a  crisis — 
I  had  spent  money  which  I  could  not  afford;  I 
was  handicapping  us  for  all  time)  I  thought  of 
the  newspaper  as  a  weapon.  I  had  something 
to  work  upon  in  Genevieve's  affection  for 
Chester.  It  was  necessary  to  kill  that  if  I 
could.  It  was  a  luxury  we  could  not  afford. 


274  Tbe  Highroad 


I  sighed  sometimes  with  sorrow  for  her,  and 
sometimes  with  relief  that  she  had  had  it. 
Kill  it  once,  and  the  barren  soil  of  her  heart 
would  never  grow  love  again.  Love  was,  I 
reasoned,  with  a  woman  like  her,  but  a  short 
lived  thing  at  best,  and  it  would  die,  as  it  dies 
in  many  a  woman  after  her  life  is  ruined. 
This  is  the  wrong  view  to  take,  of  course,  but  it 
is  so  full  of  reason  that  at  least  one  great 
philosopher  reduced  it  to  rule  and  formula. 
People  who  read  novels  are  seldom  acquainted 
with  the  writings  of  Schopenhauer,  but  I  think 
some  of  the  great  novelists  must  have  had  great 
respect  for  his  theories.  Reason  is  so  seldom 
romantic. 

My  first  idea  was  very  crude.  I  would  write 
a  newspaper  article  about  Chester,  connecting 
his  name  with  that  of  another  woman.  Gene- 
vieve  was  of  the  cheap  temperament  that  is 
easily  inflamed  and  would  be  full  of  jealousy. 

And  then,  rejecting  that,  I  saw  presently 
what  to  do.  I  wrote  a  letter  to  one  of  the 
newspapers  and  told  them  that  Chester  Ward 
of  Washington,  "a  club  and  society  man," 
the  nephew  and  cousin  of  various  distinguished 
Virginians,  was  secretly  meeting  a  well-known 
Washington  woman  of  international  reputation. 


I  Make  a  Discovery  275 

There  was  "a  story  in  it,"  which  I  was  pre 
pared  to  write,  if  their  clever  young  men  in 
Washington  would  substantiate  my  "tip."  I 
signed  this  "Mary  Clay,"  and  as  I  had  given 
them  so  much  "good  stuff,"  they  were  very 
glad  to  do  this.  They  were  to  watch  his  apart 
ments,  bribe  servants,  find  out  the  last  detail 
of  his  life  by  any  means. 

For  ten  days  I  heard  nothing.  I  concluded 
that  I  had  been  mistaken,  that  there  was  noth 
ing  tangible  to  discover.  And  then  the  story 
came. 

Since  then  I  have  ceased  to  be  astonished. 
I  have  discovered  that  you  may  take  almost 
any  human  being  and  after  you  have  watched 
him  for  days  you  will  find  something  eccentric 
enough  to  make  a»newspaper  story  by  judicious 
patching  here  and  there. 

Here  was  poor  foolish  Chester's  wrecked 
life  spread  out  before  me. 

According  to  the  newspaper's  lurid-seeing 
young  men  in  Washington,  Chester  was  keep 
ing  a  gambling-house.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
young  men  met  at  his  rooms  for  very  high 
play,  and  cases  of  wine  were  sent  there  for 
their  consumption. 

And— Chester  had  married  a  chorus  girl  from 


2j6  'The  Highroad 

comic  opera  circles  during  his  first  year  in 
Washington,  and  when  she  was  "off  the  road," 
she  sometimes  assisted  in  receiving  the  guests. 
No  wonder  he  could  not  marry  Genevieve! 
Nobody  knew  that  the  girl  was  his  wife.  The 
paper's  young  men  discovered  that. 

When  I  took  those  facts  and  made  them  in 
a  page  shocker  for  a  sensational  Sunday  paper, 
I  trembled  as  with  a  chill.  My  pen  would 
hardly  travel  across  the  sheet  of  white  paper. 
When  Robert  was  a  baby,  he  looked  at  the 
primer  words  they  were  trying  to  teach  him, 
and  said,  "Writing  is  just  pictures  of  the  words 
we  say."  The  writing  I  put  into  that  story 
seemed  alive,  seemed  to  look  up  at  me  with 
suggestions  of  horror. 

I  thought  of  Mrs.  Ward,  and  of  her  sweet 
ness  and  kindness.  She  would  never  say  an 
unkind  word  of  any  one,  not  even  a  dissi 
pated  son  of  royalty.  As  I  wrote  a  picture  came 
before  me  of  a  summer  night  in  Fowlersburg 
last  year.  I  sat  in  the  unlighted  window  in 
Chester's  bed-room  the  evening  after  he  had 
left,  and  his  mother  lay  on  the  narrow  white 
bed  where  he  had  slept  through  all  his  boy 
hood.  The  moon  was  full,  flooding  the  quiet 
street  outside,  and  the  yellow  honeysuckle  that 


I  Make  a  Discovery 


covered  the  porches  filled  the  air  with  a  senti 
mental,  old-fashioned  sweetness.  A  half  dozen 
negro  boys  came  by  and  stopped  at  the  street 
corner  to  sing,  as  they  are  wont  to  do  in  the 
southern  towns.  Their  plaintive  boyish  voices 
went  through  the  lament  of  "Massy's  in  th' 
col',  col'  groun'."  When  they  went  away  I 
found  Mrs.  Ward  weeping  as  one  weeps  with  a 
friend. 

"I  am  very  much  alone"  sne  said,  her  usually 
cheerful  voice  broken.  "I  have  only  Chester, 
but  he  is  so  good.  It  is  compensation  for 
loneliness;  it  keeps  me  happy  to  think  of  the 
full  happy  life  he  is  having.  Some  women 
have  sorrow  with  their  boys." 

Could  I  do  it?  I  said  to  myself  that  I  could 
not  even  as  my  hand  went  across  the  paper, 
making  shameful  a  story  of  weakness. 

At  heart  I  am  a  sentimentalist,  but  I  did  not 
dare  sacrifice  my  child  to  save  hers.  Why 
should  I? 

There  was  this  one  chance  of  saving  mine 
from  a  present  peril,  but  all  my  hopes  seemed 
tumbling  about  me  even  as  I  wrote.  What  can 
one  do  with  stupidity? 


27 8  'The  Highroad 

XXIV 

A  Business  Interview 

I  was  terrified,  and  yet  there  was  something, 
some  sense  of  tranquillity,  deep  below  my  sur 
face  disturbance  which  told  me  that  the  day 
was  not  lost.  What  is  that  sustaining  force 
which  holds  some  of  us  fast  to  a  course  of  con 
duct  even  when  it  seems  hopeless?  Is  it  our 
reliance  upon  the  universal  plan?  It  is  we  to 
whom  the  day  finally  turns — always  People 
say  "a  fool  for  luck."  Have  you  ever  seen  a 
lucky  fool?  I  never  have. 

Sunday  morning  brought  the  story  of  Ches 
ter's  marriage  in  naked  type,  with  his  picture 
and  that  of  his  wife  in  the  center  of  the  page 
surrounded  by  the  emblems  of  chance.  The 
hideousness  of  it  nauseated  me.  I  hid  the 
paper  away  at  first,  and  then  I  allowed  it  to 
be  carried  up  to  Genevieve  with  the  rest  of 
her  Sunday  morning  literature.  What  it  meant 
to  her  I  shall  never  know.  She  came  down 
stairs  dressed  for  the  street  and  went  out,  only 
coming  in  to  dress  and  go  to  a  dinner.  There  is 
a  wall  between  my  child  and  me  which  can 


A  Business  Interview  279 

never  be  pierced;  I  have  no  insight  into  a  na 
ture  such  as  hers.  I  cannot  think  her  thoughts. 
Sometimes  when  I  have  been  in  the  midst  of 
despising  a  personality,  a  wave  of  humility 
has  swept  over  me,  and  I  wonder.  I  try  to 
have  a  clear  vision,  to  be  honest,  to  see  the 
real.  But  I  must  see  through  my  eyes  with  my 
brain  and  nerves.  I  have  so  often  verified  my 
judgment  of  people  that  I  have  grown  to 
accept  it.  Like  everybody  else  I  admire  my 
own  point  of  view — my  own  opinions.  There 
is  no  mind  which  deserves  the  name  which 
does  not;  for  if  we  did  not  like  our  own  opin 
ions  we  should  change  them  and  get  another 
set.  But  after  all,  understanding  is  much  a 
thing  of  tranquil  nerves.  There  is  some  aura, 
some  vibration,  some  electrical  force,  perhaps, 
from  one  person  we  each  know,  which  dis 
turbs  us.  When  that  comes  it  dazzles  our  vi 
sion,  and  we  love  or  hate  for  the  same  reason 
that  we  love  or  hate  at  any  time;  for  that  we 
are  supremely  comfortable  or  supremely  un 
comfortable.  Some  unfortunates  cannot  dis 
tinguish  the  difference  between  the  two  states. 
My  daughter  Genevieve  made  me  supremely 
uncomfortable.  I  could  not  penetrate  her 
mind  because  I  was  turned  back  at  its  very 


280  'The  Highroad 

portals.  She  was  all  outside  to  me.  I  pene 
trated  her  nature  as  I  might  have  peeled  an 
onion,  finding  always  an  outer  skin. 

The  next  day  found  me  undecided — I 
seemed  waiting.  I  looked  at  Robert  and  won 
dered  if  he,  too,  was  to  disappoint  me.  Sup 
pose  my  judgment  of  him  were  wrong  and  he 
was  after  all  only  a  young  man  whose  fancy 
was  taken  by  an  older  woman?  Suppose  all  my 
plans  should  come  to  the  cheap  end  of  my  son 
being  the  husband  of  a  woman  like  Mrs.  Wal- 
lingford.  And  my  daughter — I  shuddered  to 
think  of  my  daughter's  possibilities. 

For  two  days  she  was  hardly  in  the  house. 
Whether  or  not  she  saw  Chester  Ward  in  that 
interval  I  never  knew. 

On  Wednesday  morning  she  came  to  me. 
There  was  a  hard  look  in  her  eyes  and  around 
the  corners  of  her  mouth,  and  she  was  deadly 
pale. 

"I  want  to  go  to  Europe — leave  here,"  she 
said.  She  seated  herself  on  a  small  chair  by 
my  desk,  and  made  her  request  as  one  might 
ask  possibilities  of  a  lawyer. 

"My  dear,"  I  began.  She  brought  her 
tight  fist  in  its  walking  glove  down  upon  the 
corner  of  my  desk  with  force. 


A  Business  Interview  281 

"Don't  'my  dear'  me!"  she  said  furiously. 
"You  hold  the  family  money.  I  want  enough 
to  take  me  to  Paris." 

"And  what  will  you  do  there?" 

She  looked  at  me  for  a  moment  with  some 
thing  like  malice  trying  to  break  through  the 
tragedy  in  her  face.  "Enjoy  myself,"  she  said 
finally. 

"Genevieve,"  I  said,  "as  soon  as  I  can  I 
will  dispose  of  this  house  and  we  shall  go. 
But — there  is  no  money — to-day." 

"You  can  always  get  whatever  you  want. 
Get  it,"  she  said. 

A  few  moments  later  I  heard  her  go  out.  I 
sat  in  my  own  room  and  my  thoughts  were  not 
pleasant  thoughts. 

An  hour  afterward  Emelie  came  in  with  a 
card.  I  read  the  neat  unostentatious  script  as 
though  "Mr.  William  B.  Clancy"  called  upon 
me  once  a  week.  It  was  only  at  the  drawing- 
room  door  that  fear  came. 

I  found  him  sitting  in  the  easiest  chair  in 
the  room,  a  pair  of  eyeglasses,  which  were  on 
a  black  ribbon  around  his  neck,  held  in  a  hand 
which  was  too  dainty  and  long-fingered  for  a 
man  of  his  bulk.  That  imaginative  hand  was 
a  traitor  which  told  secrets. 


282  'The  Highroad 

When  I  entered,  slipping  in,  he  arose  and 
balanced  himself  so  that  his  lameness  was  not 
visible. 

"I  shall  ask  you  to  pardon  my  unannounced 
visit,"  he  said  with  ceremony,  "I  hope  my 
reasons  for  coming  may  be  my  excuse." 

I  shivered.  Could  it  be  possible — his  repu 
tation  for  boldness  was  unparalleled — that  he 
was  going  actually  to  speak  of  Mrs.  Walling- 
ford?  Was  he  going  to  threaten?  There  are 
some  things  that  seem  almost  romantic  as  long 
as  they  are  covered  in  roses,  but  held  up  to 
view,  defined  in  words,  they  become  ghastly, 
miserable.  I  drew  into  a  shell  of  reserve,  I 
shrunk,  I  was  a  timid  little  woman.  I  made 
him  no  reply,  but  simply  a  little  bow  with  what 
Prolmann  once  called  my  "pathetic  smile." 

"You  have,  I  understand,  large  tracts  of 
West  Virginia  coal  land,"  he  said  abruptly, 
"and  a  railroad  concession  leading  to  it." 

I  almost  laughed  in  my  relief.  "I  have  a 
large  tract  of  land  which  I  believe  contains 
coal." 

"It  is  a  well-founded  belief.  Do  you  wish 
to  sell  it?" 

"I  do  not." 

"Good I"  he  said.     "I  had  heard  that  you 


A  Business  Interview  283 

desired  to  hold  it,  and  in  any  case  I  should 
have  advised  you  to  do  so.  The  property  will 
be  very  valuable  when  it  is  developed.  A 
syndicate,  of  which  I  am  a  member,  is  about  to 
open  up  that  part  of  West  Virginia,  although 
the  project  has  not  yet  been  made  public.  It 
is  for  that  reason  that  I  have  asked  to  speak  to 
you  personally.  I  felt  that  we  could  rely  upon 
your  discretion." 

"You  can,"  I  said,  and  as  I  said  it  I  realized 
that  this-  man's  agents  had  sifted  my  story 
from  beginning  to  end.  And  I  exulted  in  it. 
At  any  rate,  here  was  one  person  who  did  not 
believe  me  altogether  a  fool.  Tears  of  self- 
pity  tried  to  find  their  way  to  my  eyes,  while  I 
despised  myself  that  I  was  so  feminine  a  thing. 

"We  wished  to  propose  an  arrangement  by 
which  we  could  take  over  your  property  and 
develop  it  upon  a  basis  of  profits.  The  coun 
try  is  greatly  depressed  now,  but  this  condition 
cannot  last.  The  pendulum  goes  so  far  in  one 
direction  and  then  comes  back  again.  When 
the  moment  comes  it  will  have  an  enormous 
impetus,  and  it  is  rational  to  prepare  for  it." 

"What  do  you  propose?"  I  asked.  To  the 
bottom  of  my  consciousness  I  was  disturbed. 
Why?  Why  was  this  man  going  so  far  from 


284  The  Highroad 

his  usual  methods?  Nothing  gives  me  such 
impatience  as  a  lack  of  understanding.  When 
I  have  read  the  fairy  stories  of  people  who  had 
three  wishes,  or  even  one  wish,  magically 
gratified,  it  has  always  been  a  wonder  to  me 
that  nobody  ever  begged  for  perfect  under 
standing.  Think  what  it  would  be  to  know! 

Could  it  be  that  he  was  bribing  me  to  take 
Robert  away — putting  me  upon  my  honor? 
It  was  to  Robert  that  I  had  expected  advances 
to  be  made,  and  never  anything  like  this. 

I  know  that  those  who  are  instructed  in  life 
by  sentimental  novels  will  say  that  naturally 
Mr.  Clancy  would  lose  interest  in  Mrs.  Wal- 
lingford  when  she  showed  that  she  no  longer 
cared  for  him,  that  she  was  infatuated  with  a 
boy — which  only  goes  to  show  how  little  histor 
ical  novelists  know  their  history.  It  was  Mrs. 
Wallingford  that  he  was  fighting  for,  that  he 
was  using  his  diplomacy,  his  power,  to  bring 
back  to  himself,  I  felt  sure. 

He  gave  me  a  plan  for  the  development  of 
the  property.  He  would  pay  me  a  percentage 
upon  all  the  coal  taken  out,  and  would  agree 
to  take  out  so  many  tons  a  year  for  a  term  of 
fifty  years.  I  hardly  heard  what  he  said.  I 
was  waiting  for  what  came  at  last. 


A  Business  Interview  285 

"I  suppose  you  would  like  to  have  an  agent 
of  your  own  upon  the  premises?" 

"Yes,"  I  said. 

"Your  son?     Has  he  finished  college?" 

"Yes." 

"If  you  will  ask  him  to  call  upon  me,  I 
should  be  -glad  to  talk  the  matter  over  with 
him.  The  development  of  that  property  is  a 
great  opportunity  for  a  young  man." 

"Yes,"  I  said. 

I  bowed  to  him  in  his  formal  departure,  and 
sat  down  with  my  head  in  my  hands.  I  was 
not  ready  to  comprehend. 

When  Robert  came  in  I  sent  for  him  at  once. 
I  felt  that  the  bargain  was  not  concluded  until 
he  had  given  his  consent  to  go.  I  saw  that  he 
held  an  evening  paper  in  his  hand,  with  a  look 
of  gravity  in  his  face,  but  after  I  had  spoken 
for  a  moment  he  put  down  the  paper  and  rang 
the  bell. 

"Bring  me  a  carafe  of  water  and  some 
whiskey,"  he  said  to  Emelie.  I  looked  at 
him  astonished.  He,  who  hardly  touched  a 
glass  of  claret  at  dinner. 

"It  is  not  for  me,"  he  said  when  it  came. 
"It  is  for  you.  You  have  looked  like  death 
for  days." 


286  The  Highroad 

But  I  pushed  the  stuff  away  with  disgust.  I 
loathe  the  sight  of  it. 

"Do  you  not  think  it  would  be  well  to  go 
down  there  and  develop  the  property?"  I 
asked  after  I  had  told  the  story. 

Robert  poured  out  some  whiskey  and  drank 
it,  and  smiled  at  me. 

"Genevieve  wants  to  go  to  Europe,"  I 
began. 

"I  wonder,"  he  said  gaily,  "if  Clancy  would 
put  me  up  at  the  Union  Club." 

"There  is  a  long  waiting-list  there,"  I  said 
stupidly.  I  wondered  if  the  boy  were  a  fool, 
after  all. 

"And,  I  wonder,  my  dear  mother,  if  he  will 
not  ask  us  to  dinner." 

"But  it  is  a  question  of  your  going  to  West 
Virginia.  I  will  go  down  with  you  and" — my 
mind  was  working  slowly — "stay  with  Mrs. 
Ward." 

Robert  reached  for  the  paper  he  had  brought 
in. 

"It  would  be  too  bad  to  bury  oneself  in  West 
Virginia  when  one  may  enjoy  the  advantages 
of  New  York."  He  smiled  at  me.  "I  hear 
that  Mr.  Van  Nest  is  coming  home." 

"But," -1  tried  to  expostulate. 


A  Business  Interview  287 

Robert  looked  at  me  suddenly  with  a  flash  of 
understanding  in  his  face  that  I  had  seen  there 
once  before. 

"You  think  Clancy  is  giving  you  money. 
Mother,  that  property  is  worth  millions.  It  is 
necessary  to  their  plans.  Father  must  have 
been  a  prophet  to  see  so  far  ahead.  Let  me 
arrange  the  details  of  the  working  of  the  prop 
erty.  We  shall  all  be  millionaires,  and  I  do 
not  believe  you  want  to  go  to  West  Virginia. 
Mrs.  Ward  killed  herself  yesterday  on  account 
of  that  story  about  Chester." 

And  then,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  lost 
control  of  my  senses  and  fainted  dead  away 


288  The  Highroad 

XXV 

We  Arrive 

The  rest  of  the  story  is  entirely  commonplace. 
We  were  really  rich.  No  more  lies,  no  more 
mean  ways.  I  took  Genevieve  abroad,  and 
Babcock  followed  and  married  her.  It  has 
been  as  happy  as  most  marriages.  Robert 
stayed  behind  and  managed  our  affairs,  and 
married  Mr.  Clancy's  niece,  Mrs.  Thomas' 
daughter.  A  month  later  Mr.  Van  Nest  mar 
ried  Mrs.  Wallingford,  with  the  result  that  one 
of  his  daughters  never  spoke  to  him  again,  but 
all  the  rest  of  society  remembered  that  it  had 
always  loved  her.  What  comedy  was  played 
before  these  things  came  about,  only  Robert 
could  tell. 

Jane,  young,  an  heiress,  brought  up  abroad, 
with  the  best  connections,  naturally  married 
into  the  nobility.  She  needed  none  of  my 
offices. 

Chester  Ward  divorced  his  wife,  and,  seem 
ingly  without  the  least  difficulty,  married  a 
western  girl  with  great  wealth.  They  were  at 


We  Arrive  289 

Kiel  on  their  yacht  this  summer,  enjoying  the 
usual  Imperial  attentions. 

And  as  I  sit  here,  there  is  just  one  thing 
that  my  heart  aches  over.  The  money  was 
there  all  the  time!  Lucile  might  have  married 
Julien,  and  those  little  French  children  might 
have  played  among  the  old  marbles  atVerriere. 
There  was  where  my  faith  and  heart  failed  me, 
and  I  can  never  forgive  myself. 

You  may  not  be  able  to  forgive  me  else 
where.  My  road  has  not  always  been  flower- 
strewn,  nor  always  free  from  mud.  But — I  am 
here! 

Some  of  you  will  put  down  this  page  with 
expressions  of  disgust,  and  yet, — you  have  fol 
lowed  me!  The  best  proof  that  I  am  not  alto 
gether  alien  to  you  is  the  fact  that  we  are  here 
together. 


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